


The Nature of Fire

by Phosphorescent



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence - Revenge of the Sith, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Difficult Decisions, Extended Metaphors, F/M, For Want of a Nail, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, In Spite of a Nail, Jewish Padmé Amidala, Love vs. Duty, More Similes Than You Can Shake a Stick At, Moving On, Not-Very-Hidden Meta in Fic Form, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Female Character, Padmé Amidala Lives, Philosophical Discussions, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship Study, Self-Discovery, aka Wherein Padme Re-Evaluates Her Life Choices During RotS, what is love?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2018-11-08 19:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11088111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phosphorescent/pseuds/Phosphorescent
Summary: Giddean Danu shook his head, doubt plainly written across his dark face. “If we are to openly oppose the Chancellor, we need the support of the Jedi. We need their moral authority. Otherwise, what do we have?”“The moral authority of the Jedi, such as it is,” Bana Breemu said, “has been spent lavishly upon war; I fear they have none left for politics.”“One Jedi, then,” Padmé offered to the others.At least let me speak the truth to my love. At least. Please, she pleaded with them silently. “There is one Jedi—one whom I truly know all of us can trust absolutely …”Her voice trailed off into appalled silence when she realized that she wasn’t talking about Anakin.— Matthew Stover'sRevenge of the Sithnovelization





	1. Prologue + Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been percolating in my brain for at least two years now. It's my attempt to write a partial fix-it (or, erm, break it differently?) AU for _Revenge of the Sith_ , while blending canon and Legends materials. Be forewarned that the Anakin/Padmé tag is due to the narrative importance of their relationship in this story and _not_ because this is an Anidala positive fic. There's no character bashing here (I hope!), but Anakin is... not exactly in a good place as of RotS and his relationship with Padmé (which had some Major Unresolved Issues™ to begin with) is negatively impacted by this, just as it was in canon. The key difference is that in this fic, Padmé—unbound by canon's plot armor—is allowed to acknowledge that something is Seriously Wrong... and to _do_ something about it. There's a reason this fic's working title was "Wherein Padmé Re-Evaluates Her Life Choices During RotS", after all. ;-) 
> 
> [As I've mentioned on tumblr](https://phosphorescent-naidheachd.tumblr.com/post/153493814036/just-wondering-what-are-your-problems-with), I have mixed feelings about Stover's RotS novelization. There's a lot that he does well in it... and a couple of things that he does that make me seriously grind my teeth. That said, the section I quoted in the summary acted as the impetus for this fic, so that means I'm going to reference the book. A _lot_. As matter of fact, there will be _copious_ quotes from Stover's RotS novelization and from the RotS film in the first few chapters of this fic, as I'm trying to make the canon divergence feel as gradual and natural as possible. So if you see any lines you recognize, that's why. No plagiarism is intended and I'm obviously not making any profit from it.
> 
> Many thanks to the amazing [anecdotalist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anecdotalist) ([likealeafonthewind](http://likealeafonthewind.tumblr.com) on tumblr) for beta-reading this fic! This story wouldn't have been half as coherent without your help.
> 
> I had meant to hold off on publishing this fic until I'd written more of it, but have since decided that I might as well go ahead and start to post what I've gotten written. However, since I am nowhere even _remotely_ close to completing a rough draft of this fic at the moment, please be aware that updates are going to be slow and sporadic. I tender my apologies to all of you in advance. 
> 
> Last but not least: I really, truly appreciate any and all feedback. If you feel like quoting half of my fic back at me or want to write a detailed review, I'll be _thrilled_! If all you have the spoons to leave is an emoji or a keysmash or a 'good chapter', know that I will still happily hug that to myself when my writing motivation is low. By a similar token, don't feel shy about telling me things that you disagree with or that need fixing; I may or may not take your advice, but that constructive criticism will still help me to improve my writing... and that, in turn, will mean better stories for you to read.

 

* * *

 

**PART ONE:**

**The Crucible**

 

* * *

  

**_Prologue_ **

  

Love and passion, Padmé’s mother had once told her, were like fire. 

Like fire, if they were to be sustained, they must be a conscious choice; they had to be tended regularly. Grand gestures were all very well and good, but a successful relationship was about making the time and effort for your partner in small, commonplace ways. Being in a relationship was about remembering to metaphorically bank the coals each night and choosing to rekindle them each following morning. It was about re-choosing your partner each and every day. 

Remembering this, Padmé had put forth a great deal of effort in her marriage with Anakin. When she was frustrated or angry with him, she reminded herself why she loved him. She chose and re-chose him every day—even when she didn’t feel like it—and worked to make their relationship work.

But she had forgotten this:

Passion is important, but without a base of trust and mutual respect it is like a wildfire, consuming all in its path. And no fire can burn forever; without friendship to contain it, passion, like wildfire, leaves behind nothing but ashes and scars.

Love is like fire. It can burn as easily as it can warm, so you have to be careful.

 

 

* * *

   _This had been all about him [Anakin] when she’d started—all about her love, her need to be open with him, the pain that keeping this secret stabbed her heart at each and every beat—but when the thought had turned to trust, when it became a question of someone she knew, truly and absolutely knew, she could_ trust _—_

_She discovered that she was talking about Obi-Wan._

_Anakin … Something was breaking inside her._ […]

_Padmé could only sit in silence. In mourning._

_Grieving for the sudden death of an illusion._

— Matthew Stover’s _Revenge of the Sith_ novelization 

* * *

 

 

**_Chapter One: (Mis)Trust_**

 

_I do not trust my husband with my secrets._

It had been a day since the meeting with her fellow delegation representatives and Padmé was still recovering from the shock of her realization.

 _I love him, but I do not trust him. And what is love without trust?_  

She had been so focused on the relationship that she thought they had— _wanted_ them to have—that she had paid little attention to the one that they actually _did_. 

Could the same be true of Anakin himself? Did she truly love Anakin or did she merely love what he symbolized to her?

She immediately brushed the disloyal thought aside, but it kept returning.

Of all the things she had thought to question, her faith in and love for her husband had never been among them. 

She didn’t have _time_ for this. 

She had a petition to present to the Chancellor in just a few hours; she needed to plan out exactly what she was going to say. She needed to figure out responses to all of the things that _he_ might say. 

Chancellor Palpatine needed to rein in his Moffs if the Senate was to continue to function. And he _had_ to be made aware of the importance of declaring a ceasefire and re-opening peace talks with the Separatists. This war had dragged on for far too long, and its costs were only going to continue to mount. With each passing day, more and more lives and credits were lost, more morals and civil liberties sacrificed. If the war did not end soon, she feared that there might no longer be a Republic left to defend at all. And if she took into account the rate at which Palpatine kept amending the Constitution, that day was arriving rapidly. 

Yet her mind kept wandering away from the task at hand. 

She loved Anakin—she _knew_ she loved him; had known ever since Naboo and Geonosis. 

She loved him for his capacity for joy and cleansing laughter; for his extraordinary generosity of spirit; for his honesty; for his bravery and passionate devotion. Just one glance from him could set her heart pounding, and his _kisses_ … the way he touched her… 

He made her feel _alive_ like no other. 

She loved him because he could keep up with her, could challenge her.

Because he looked injustice in the face and said that it was _wrong_ ; that things needed to be changed _now_ , not some unknown, distant tomorrow. 

She loved him because he was so blessedly _forthright_. There was never any need to worry about hidden agendas when it came to Anakin. He said exactly what he thought and felt, even when it would have been more prudent to remain silent.

She loved him because he reminded her that there was more to life than duty and rules; he inspired the parts of her—mischievous, impulsive, rebellious—that she was forced to hide away while on the Senate floor.

And yet….

She _did not trust him_.

When she withheld information from him, it wasn’t just out of a desire to protect him from that which might hurt him, as she had so often tried to convince herself. 

But more than that….

A part of her was frightened of his possible reaction. Frightened that his response—and she shied away from thinking about what that might be too closely—would further shatter the precious illusion that was their marriage. Would further shatter her understanding of both him and herself.

Anakin was a… possessive… person. Padmé had always known as much. She suspected it was largely a natural consequence of having grown up as a slave—never having had any real control or certainty. 

He covetously guarded those beings he saw as _his_ , a part of him always afraid that they might be taken from him at any moment. His loyalty towards those few was absolute and he expected that same level of loyalty from them in return, that same degree of attention and affection. 

In some ways, she found that kind of desperate passion thrilling, even gratifying. Lately, though….

It was just… nothing ever seemed _enough_ for him.

The pieces of herself that she could offer were never enough. Anakin wanted _all_ of her. He had become increasingly jealous of her work for the Senate, since it was time she did not spend with him. He was jealous of her colleagues and friends, insisting that they held a flame for her or weren’t to be trusted.

(She could not think of his reaction to Rush Clovis without deep disquiet.)

The war was wearing him ragged—was wearing them _both_ ragged—but her devotion was not enough to stopper the ever-growing holes in his psyche; she thought a part of him subconsciously resented her for it, resented her for not upholding her part of some unspoken agreement that only he knew about. 

More than once, she had caught herself watching her words closely around him, tip-toeing around his temper. Biting back the funny story Bail had told her for fear it would spark Anakin’s jealousy. Not mentioning her latest project for helping Separatist refugees so as not to receive yet _another_ lecture about how dangerous it was (as though he was one to talk!) and to avoid the inevitable argument that would come when he tried to forbid her from doing her job. Restraining herself from criticizing Palpatine in front of him, as it always put him in a bad mood, and she didn’t want to mar the little time that they had together.

It was exhausting.

 _He_ was exhausting. 

Anakin did not understand that some things came before personal feelings— _had_ to come before personal feelings—because to him, his personal feelings and his duty were one and the same. He took anything else from those he cared for as the worst sort of personal betrayal.

He would not understand why she was going against one of his dearest friends… and behind his back, at that. How hurt would he be? How angry?

How had everything come to this? 

 _I love you, Anakin. I am sorry—so very sorry—but I_ must _take action. Whatever his intentions, Palpatine has become a dictator in all but name; if left unchecked, he will spell the end of democracy as we know it. I cannot allow that to happen. No matter what the cost is… no matter what it may do to our marriage._

Perhaps if they had never needed to hide their love, Anakin would have felt more secure in it—n _her_. Secure enough to understand that a petition against Palpatine was not the same thing as an attack against _him_.

Perhaps in another life, one where all of these deceptions had never been necessary—one where she hadn’t felt the need to hide the truth from her own husband—

Padmé cut the thought off ruthlessly. It was too close to defeatism. She loved Anakin and he loved her; that would be enough, surely? It _had_ to be enough. She would _make_ it enough. 

No sooner had she made this resolution than, almost as though he had been summoned by her thoughts, she heard Anakin’s telltale footsteps in the apartment.

He had returned.

Determined not to let her recent doubts show, Padmé arranged her face into the carefully blank, polite slate that she always wore in the Senate. She knew he hated that face, but it was better than the alternative at present. 

When she entered the living room, she found him on the living room couch, face set in a scowl. He was staring at the flimsiplast in his hand as though it held the secrets to the universe.

Smoothing her Senatorial robes, Padmé took a deep breath and greeted him.

“Anakin? What are you doing here? It’s still the middle of the afternoon….”

He looked up from the flimsi and frowned. 

“Waiting for you,” he replied sharply. “What are _you_ doing here in the middle of the afternoon?” 

“I have a very important meeting in two hours,” she informed him stiffly, not liking the implicit accusation in his tone. “I left a document reader here this morning—”

“This meeting—is it with the _Chancellor_?” Anakin’s voice came out low and harsh. “Is it his last meeting of the afternoon?”

So he knew then. But how much—?

“Y-yes, yes it is.” She stuttered a little despite her best efforts at projecting calm. “Anakin, what’s—”

“I have to be there, too.” He crumpled the flimsi and stuffed it back into his equipment belt. “I’m starting to look forward to it.” 

Surely he couldn’t be this angry just because of the _meeting_?

…Could he have sensed her recent misgivings about him?

“Anakin, what is it? What’s wrong?”

He lurched to his feet. “Obi-Wan’s been here, hasn’t he?” 

“He came by this morning. Why?”

 _Is he all right? Has something happened to him since then?_  

“What did you talk about?”

He bit the words out, more like an order than in a question.

“Anakin, why are you acting like this?”

One long stride brought him over to her. He towered above her. For one stretching second, she saw something darkly contemptuous in his eyes; it disturbed her—almost _frightened_ her. Padmé had seen Anakin angry in the past, but she had never before had that anger so openly directed at herself.

He repeated: “What did you _talk_ about?”

Unsettled she might be, but Padmé Amidala was no coward.

She planted her feet and gazed steadily up at him as she replied, “We talked about you.”

“What _about_ me?” The words came out hard and fast.

“He’s worried about you, Anakin. He says you’re under a lot of stress.”

Sardonically: “And he’s _not_?”

“The way you’ve been acting since you got back—”

“ _I’m_ not the one doing the _acting_. _I’m_ not the one doing the pretending! _I’m_ not the one _sneaking in here in the morning_!”

Just what was he _implying_?! 

Anakin knew perfectly well that she and Obi-Wan were friendly—knew that they had corresponded periodically throughout his padawan years. He’d been mortified and furious upon learning the latter, but she had thought he’d since accepted it… especially since he knew that that friendship had become more and more strained over the years under the weight of their separate duties and secrets.

Before this morning’s visit, when was the last time she and Obi-Wan had spent time together without Anakin, anyway? When they’d run into one another in the Senate halls earlier this year, perhaps? …Come to think of it, she was fairly certain they’d only had a few minutes of conversation before Anakin had appeared on the scene.

Where was he _getting_ such ridiculous notions? But to confront him now—when he was already so emotional—would only escalate the discussion without solving anything.

She took a deep breath and reined in her temper. Forcing a smile, she said with careful lightness,

“No, that’s usually when you’re sneaking out.”

As though he was a marionette whose strings had been cut, Anakin half fell into a chair and pressed the edge of his flesh hand against his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Padmé,” he said quietly, head bowed. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been… difficult to deal with. I just—I feel like I’m in free fall. Free fall in the dark. I don’t know which way is up. I don’t know where I’ll be when I land. Or crash. …I think it’s going to be a crash.”

_Oh, Ani._

Her heart softened.

She seated herself on the wide-rolled arm of his chair and laid her arm about his shoulders. “What’s happened, Ani? You’ve always been so sure of yourself.” _Sometimes_ too _sure, if only to better hide your insecurities._ “What’s changed?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Everything. I don’t know. It’s all so screwed up, I can’t even tell you. The Council doesn’t trust me, Palpatine doesn’t trust the Council. They’re plotting against each other and both sides are pressuring _me_ , and—”

Oh, _honestly_. She had sympathy for his position, of course she did, but he was paranoid when it came to the Council, his antipathy for them clouding his judgment. It always had. And after the farking mess that had been Ahsoka’s trial….

Well, relations between the two had become infinitely worse.

“Are things truly that bad then?”

“ _Worse_. The Council wants me to _spy_ on the Chancellor, Padmé. It’s underhanded and corrupt and I _won’t do it_. Palpatine has always been a good friend to the Jedi.”

“And a good friend to you.”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Anakin, tone turning defensive, “and if he has, what’s so wrong with that?”

“I wasn—”

“I get enough of that from Obi-Wan, Padmé. Don’t you start too.”

“Ani, I know the Jedi Council is flawed, but it’s one of the cornerstones of the Republic. Surely they have their reasons…?”

“The basis of the Republic is _democracy_ , Padmé—something the Council doesn’t much like when votes don’t go their way. _All those who gain power are afraid to lose it—_ that’s something you should remember.” He sounded like he was quoting something—or someone. “You _and_ your _friends_ in the Senate.”

She’d come to expect his derision for the Senate, and so took his latest dig on that subject without a blink. Instead, she reminded him,

“But Obi-Wan is on the Council; _he’d_ never participate in anything deceitful without good cause, let alone anything that would hurt _you—_ ”

“You think so?” He scoffed, shaking his head, and muttered, “Of _course_ you do. Did the Rako Hardeen fiasco mean _nothing_ to you?”

Her temper flared.

Perhaps she hadn’t put things as well as she ought, but Anakin knew perfectly well what she had meant. Obi-Wan loved Anakin, deny it though he would, and would never willingly harm him.

 _Unless_ , a small voice whispered, _he thought his duty demanded it_.

But that was beside the point. Obi-Wan would _certainly_ never go along with anything that was contrary to the best interests of the Republic—nor would the rest of the Jedi Council, surely. Its members had their faults, yes, but they all had a strong sense of duty to the Republic.

 _Of course,_ _that’s half the problem. Who is to say what is in the Republic’s best interests in the first place, after all—or what constitutes ‘good cause'?_

She brushed the niggling thought away and said,

“Look, Anakin, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but—”

He laughed, but it wasn’t a laugh that she recognized. This laughter was bleak and bitter, its edges jagged enough to cut.

“Anakin?”

“Just how close _are_ you and Obi-Wan?”

She blinked in confusion at the non sequitur.

“I don’t understand.”

“You heard me,” he said, and the sneering words were like a slap to the face as his meaning sunk in.

So he _had_ been insinuating something earlier!

“I would _never—_ why would you think…?”

_What have I ever done to make you doubt me like this?_

“What else am I supposed to think when the entire apartment _reeks_ of his scent in the Force? What am I supposed to think when he’s been seen leaving your apartment in the predawn?”

Tears stung her eyes as she said hotly,

“You’re supposed to _trust_ me!”

She wasn’t sure when they had both gotten to their feet.

“Right, like you trust _me_ ,” he retorted. “Funny how that works. You’ve been keeping secrets from me, Padmé; what am I _supposed_ to think?”

That struck home, and hard. She hadn’t realized it was so obvious that she didn’t trust him.

And yet….

“There’s a difference between me not wanting to tell you things about my work and you accusing me of—of _adultery_.”

She spat the word out, its taste acrid in her mouth.

“And what of Master Kenobi?” she continued, hands balled tight into fists. “What has _he_ done to deserve your distrust?”

“Oh, defending him, are you?”

“Well, _someone_ has to. That’s normally _your_ role, you—you prugnuficating _boltbrain_!”

Rage burned white-hot, and she was distantly aware that it was all that was keeping her from bursting into tears.

This seemed to reach him.

Shoulders slumping, he said, “I—I’m sorry, Padmé. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You need sleep,” Padmé said, trying to convince herself as much as him. “When was the last time you actually slept through the night?”

“Force knows,” said Anakin with a small, bitter laugh. He half-collapsed back into his chair as he spoke. “You’re right, you’re right. I need to sleep. …Only how _can_ I sleep when I see you dying every night in my dreams?”

“Oh, _Anakin_ , is that what’s bothering you?”

Against her better judgment, her heart softened again.

Anakin seemed anything but defeated, however, as he said fiercely, “I won’t lose you, Padmé. I _can’t_.”

He leaned forward and snatched both of her hands, holding them tightly in his own.

“I am still learning, Padmé—I have found a key to truths deeper than the Jedi could ever teach me. I will become so powerful that I will keep you _safe_. Forever. I _will_.”

She should have felt comforted, but instead it was all Padmé could do not to shudder at the near-fanatical gleam in his eyes. Gently extricating her hands from his grasp, she said,

“I don’t want to die in childbirth… I certainly intend to do all I can to prevent it. By all means, do your research. I don’t expect you to stand around waiting; it’s not in your nature—nor mine for that matter. But… everything dies eventually, you know. Sooner or later, today or tomorrow or ninety years from now, I _will_ die, Anakin.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Oh, Ani, even stars burn out.”

He jumped back as though stung.

“What?” she asked. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said roughly. “Only… Obi-Wan says that.”

“Well, he _is_ ‘as wise as Master Yoda’.”

The quote didn’t bring a smile to his face as she had hoped.

“Anakin, surely you don’t still think—”

“No,” he said sharply. “Of course not. He said himself that it was probably just idle gossip; that he might just be imagining it.”

Her stomach sank.

“Who, Anakin? Who said he ‘might just be imagining it’?”

Reluctantly, almost defiantly, he answered: “The Chancellor.”


	2. Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought this fic would have much of an audience, so learning otherwise has been a very pleasant surprise. Thank you all so much for your comments—they really do make a difference—and I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

 

“The Chancellor,” Padmé echoed flatly.

Anakin nodded, looking uncomfortable. 

 _As well he should_.

“Where would the Chancellor have heard such a ridiculous rumor? And why would he pay any attention to it, let alone pass it on?” she asked.

 _And why_ , she added silently,  _would he have passed it on to_ you _,_ _of all people?_

Anakin shrugged, shoulders hunched inwards, hands now hidden in the long sleeves of his robe. 

“The Chancellor,” he said slowly, “told me that anticipation of events is his only hope of success in his position. He has to be able to see several steps ahead when it comes to the actions of those surrounding him… even his friends and allies. You’re a politician too—I’m sure you understand that.”

“Of course,” Padmé said. “But…” 

There was something missing from that explanation of his; something he wasn’t telling her. 

“But what?”

“Doesn’t it strike you as  _odd_  that he would tell you about any of this?” she asked, words bursting forth.

“What, that he would choose  _me_  as his confidant? Palpatine is my friend, Padmé. Unlike some,  _he_  trusts me.”

“That’s not what I meant—” 

“Then what  _did_  you mean?”

How to explain it to him when he was so determined to take her every comment as a slight?

She couldn’t… not directly, anyway. She would have to be careful. Circuitous.

Having marshaled her thoughts, she said, “Ani, why would Chancellor Palpatine even  _care_  about this supposed affair between myself and Master Kenobi? Surely he has larger concerns.”

Anakin’s face took on a dark cast and he crossed his arms over his chest.

When he finally spoke, he gave the impression of choosing his words with uncharacteristic caution.

“The Chancellor,” he said, “has heard from allies in the Senate that there may be a secret faction plotting to unlawfully overthrow him.”

Padmé’s eyes widened.

If that wasn't a direct quote from Palpatine's mouth—or close to, at any rate—she would eat her own headdress.

Her mind began to whirr at the possible implications. 

 _Was the Chancellor talking about the Delegation or was he_ _referring to_ another _group of dissidents... and if so, could they be possible allies for us? If he_  was _talking about the Delegation, what does he know and how did he learn it? For that matter, what are his plans for retaliation?_

All she said aloud, however, was, “I still don’t see what this has to do with myself or Obi-Wan.”

Anakin, she noticed, was closely observing her. 

“When two people meet in secret,” he said, “that means that they’re hiding something. And when the two people are as important as a Jedi and a Senator…” 

“They can only be having an affair or engaged in treason?” Padmé said, incredulous.

Anakin shrugged again, this time faintly apologetic.

“I can’t talk to you right now, Ani,” she said in disgust, turning away from him.

“Padmé—” 

“No. I have a meeting to prepare for. And from the sounds of it, so do you.” 

When she left the room, she didn’t slam the door behind her… but it was a near thing.

Even two rooms away, she could hear the  _crack_  of a datapad being thrown against the wall.

  

 

Twilight fell over Galactic City, the last brilliant rays of sunset fading into the horizon, painting it with streaks of muted fire. 

From where she stood, Padmé could see speeders whizzing between the metropolis’ ubiquitous towering spires, all set against a backdrop of clouds shaded by the city’s pollution and reflected light as much as by the sun.

She jerked her attention away from the wide transparisteel window and back to the man sitting in front of it. As she did so, a cloying waft of cologne hit her nose, its thick scent easily overwhelming the stale office air.

 _Mas Ammeda must have been here recently_.

Finally looking up from the petition she had handed him, Chancellor Palpatine spoke.

“If I didn’t know you better, Senator Amidala," he said, "I would say that you and your friends were attempting to delegitimize this government.” 

She could feel Anakin’s gaze boring a hole in her head, but she ignored him for now.

“We are not attempting to delegitimize anything,” she said as patiently as she could. “That’s why we’re  _here_. If we were trying to organize an opposition—if we sought to impose our requests as demands—we would hardly bring them before you in this fashion. This petition has been signed by two thousand Senators, Chancellor. We ask only that you instruct your Moffs not to interfere with the legitimate business of the Senate, and that you open peace talks with the Separatists. We seek only to end the war, and bring peace and stability back to our homeworlds. Surely you can understand this.”

“I understand a great many things,” he said, tone infusing his words with a world of meaning. 

Ignoring his intimation, she continued, “This system of sector governors—Moffs—you have created is very troubling; it seems as though you are imposing military controls even on loyalist systems.”

“Your reservations are noted, Senator Amidala,” Palpatine said. “I assure you that the Republic Moffs are intended only to make your systems safe—by coordinating planetary defense forces, and ensuring that neighboring systems mesh into cooperative units, and bringing production facilities up to speed in service to the war effort. That’s all. They will in no way compete with the duties and prerogatives—with the power—of the Senate.”

There was something very odd about the delicate emphasis he put on the word ‘power’, but she didn’t have time to analyze it right then. 

“May I take it, then,” she said, pressing onwards, “that there will be no further amendments to the Constitution?” 

“My dear Senator, what has the Constitution to do with this? I thought we were discussing ending the war—a terrible conflict that I want to end just as much as you do. Once the Separatists have been defeated, then we can start talking about the Constitution again. Must I remind you that the extraordinary powers granted to my office by the Senate are only in force for the duration of the emergency? Once the war ends, they expire automatically.”

He smiled, all grandfatherly warmth and equanimity. 

The attempt at placation couldn’t be more obvious... or more insulting. Did he think her a child, to be fobbed off so easily? 

“And your Moffs? Will they ‘expire’ too?”

“They are not  _my_  Moffs, my lady, they are the Republic’s,” Palpatine replied imperturbably. “The fate of their positions will be in the hands of the Senate, where it belongs.” 

For a man spouting such fallacious nonsense, he managed to sound disgustingly reasonable.

“And peace talks? Will you offer a cease-fire? It  _is_  your intention to pursue a diplomatic resolution to the war, is it not?” 

“You must trust me to do the right thing,” he said. “That is, after all, why I am here.” 

Fang Zar seemed to have had enough of holding his tongue, for now he leaned forward and chimed in. “But surely—”

“I have said I will do what is  _right_ ,” Palpatine said, a testy edge now sharpening his voice. He rose, drawing himself up to his full height, then inclined his head with an air of regal finality. “And that should be enough for your… committee.” 

His tone said:  _Don’t let the door hit you on your way out._

Padmé’s mouth compressed into a thin, grim line. “On behalf of the Delegation of the Two Thousand,” she said, tightly-drawn formality the only thing left holding her together as she inclined her head in his direction, “I thank you, Chancellor.” 

She was grateful for the cloak she had chosen to wear today, if only because it hid her hands, now clenched into trembling fists. 

“And I thank you, Senator Amidala, and your friends—” Palpatine lifted the document reader containing the petition. “—for bringing this to my attention.” 

Anger smoldered in her breast, but somewhere beneath it, she suddenly felt very cold. Palpatine’s words were innocuous, but there was something about the way he said them that gave her pause; it almost sounded like a warning… or a threat.

One by one, the handful of Senators who had accompanied her began to reluctantly file out of the office. Padmé paused, just for a second, to meet Anakin’s eyes from where he stood—

Behind the Chancellor’s desk. Announcing his loyalties to all who cared to read them.

 _And here I thought Jedi were supposed to be on the side of democracy,_ she thought sourly,  _or at the very least, to be_ neutral _parties._

He stayed expressionless, then looked away, seemingly unable to hold her gaze.

 _Good,_ she thought with a bitterness that surprised her.  _He_ should  _feel guilty._

He had just effectively chosen the Chancellor over his own wife. Worse, he had chosen the Chancellor over his duty as a Jedi… and his duty as a citizen of the Galactic Republic. 

And  _that_  she was not as sure she could soon forgive. 

She turned on her heel and strode out.

 

  

“So much,” Fang Zarr said bitterly, “for our numbers persuading the Chancellor to see reason.” 

He seemed to speak to himself as much as to the small group gathered in Mon Mothma’s apartment, where they had been waiting for a report on the meeting’s outcome. 

“Chancellor Palpatine may have evaded giving a direct response to our petition,” Padmé told the room, “but he made himself amply clear nonetheless. Whatever his motivation, he has no intentions of ceding a particle of his power without a struggle.”

Meena Tills nodded, spiky salmon barbels on her chin quivering with the motion of her tense jaw. 

"I, too, received that impression," she said.

“Make no mistake: between the warmongering, corruption, and apathy of so many in the Senate, effecting change  _will_  be a struggle,” Padmé continued. “I fear we have a long journey ahead of us.” 

From his seat across from her, Bail Organa frowned. 

“Agreed,” he said. “What should our next step be?” 

Padmé took a deep breath, then spoke. 

“Perhaps now,” she said, “is the time to bring the Jedi into our confidence.”

“It remains a risk,” Mon Mothma cautioned her.

“But without risk, there cannot be gain,” Padmé countered.

“ _If_  we were to bring  _a_  Jedi into our confidence, who would it be?” Bana Breemu asked, eyebrow arched skeptically. 

Padmé opened her mouth—

“Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Bail said promptly. “I have worked with him before, and he is both trustworthy and highly competent. He does not like the Chancellor’s power grabs any more than we do… and he is well-placed to convince the Jedi Council of our plans should we desire it.” 

Giddean Danu nodded in agreement, but Bana pursed her lips. 

“No one can deny,” she said, “that Master Kenobi is most competent. But he is very high profile… it would be difficult to include him without receiving undue scrutiny.” 

“This is true,” Padmé conceded. “But difficult is not the same as impossible.” 

Bail inclined his head at her statement and said, “Remember, both myself and Senator Amidala are known for our close working relationship with the Jedi. It would not look terribly suspicious if either of us were to meet with a member of the Jedi Council.” 

Padmé frowned, remembering Anakin’s accusations earlier that day. 

“I have heard from one of my sources that the Chancellor may be keeping an eye on Master Kenobi,” she said. “He seems to think that he might have ‘seditious’ sympathies. It’s nonsense, of course—Obi-Wan is as loyal to the Republic as they come—but…” 

“It  _does_  imply that he might be amendable to our way of thinking,” Giddean said. 

“It also means that involving him would draw the Chancellor’s attention,” Mon said, to Bana’s clear approval. 

“I am certain,” Padmé said, “that I could contact him without raising the Chancellor’s suspicions any further.”  _Anakin’s, on the other hand…_  “Are there any additional objections to consulting Master Kenobi?” 

“If you are certain, I have no other objections to Master Kenobi,” Mon said. “But we ought not bring any  _more_  Jedi in on our secret at this time. One is more than enough.”

 _Is this meant to be a caution to_ me,  _or simply a statement of fact?_

_...What do you know, Mon?_

Bail hummed in agreement. 

“I do not care for the Jedi Order,” Bana said, beautifully manicured fingers adjusting her headscarf, “but I do trust all of  _you_. If you think it wise to let  _one_  Jedi in on our plans, I am willing.”

“We are all in agreement, then?” Bail asked. “Senator Amidala will discuss our aims with Master Kenobi?”

There was a flurry of nods.

"Very well, then," he said. "Now while the Chancellor was talking, it occurred to me that..."

 

 

When she entered her apartment, Padmé let out a sigh upon seeing the shattered remains of a datapad lying on the floor. 

She had nearly forgotten about that part of their argument.

Of  _course_  Anakin hadn't bothered to clean it up before leaving for the Chancellor's office.

Oh, he'd apologize later, she had no doubt—probably even bring her a present in an attempt to sweeten her mood. Hopefully a replacement datapad too. 

Her lips twisted wryly. Knowing Anakin, the new datapad would be several steps above its predecessor in quality, even if that meant he had to tinker with it himself. A sweet gesture, certainly.... but if he hadn't destroyed her old one, it wouldn't be necessary in the first place.

They really did seem to be arguing more and more these days. 

 _It’s just the stress of the war and of lying to everyone_ , she told herself. 

…If only she could believe that was  _all_  there was to it. 

And that brought her thoughts back to the true root of their argument: Palpatine. 

_Where along the way did Palpatine lose his way? And if I had noticed earlier, could I have prevented it?_

_What does Palpatine know about our relationship? …Has he been having me watched? And if so,_ how _and for how long? What_ else _does he know?_  

It was all enough to give her a headache. 

It was at times like this that she  _really_ wished she had someone else in on her secret marriage that she could talk to about these things. 

Her handmaiden, Ellé, knew and had been helping cover for her, but she was visiting family off-world—her father had had a heart attack—and this information was too sensitive to be entrusted to a message that could be intercepted.

Then there was Ahsoka, who must suspect something about her relationship with Anakin, even if she didn't  _know_. But for all her wisdom and skill, Ahsoka was still a child. Padmé would not place that kind of burden on her, not when she knew Ahsoka was already struggling to keep her head above water in the wake of having left the Order.

If only Sabé could be told her secret, or Hollé or Bail. Or Obi-Wan. Good listeners, all—and all with a good eye for the subtleties of political intrigue.

_…Obi-Wan._

The thought struck like a lightning bolt. 

She needed to talk to Obi-Wan about the Delegation anyway. Why not hit two nuna with one stone?

She couldn’t tell Obi-Wan about her marriage and pregnancy—it wasn’t her place to do so without Anakin’s consent, no matter how much she might wish otherwise—but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t share  _some_  of her concerns with him. 

Such as Anakin’s increasingly erratic behavior… and his increasingly worrisome closeness with the Chancellor. 

In fact, now would be an ideal time to contact Obi-Wan.

The ill-fated meeting in Chancellor Palpatine’s office had only ended an hour ago, and as the Chancellor's appointed representative to the Council, Anakin would still be occupied with him for some time… providing her with just the opening she needed. 

For a moment, she wondered whether she ought to ask Obi-Wan to meet her at a neutral, discreet location instead of the Temple, so that Anakin didn’t learn of it. She may have temporarily placated Anakin, but she was not foolish enough to think that an end to his jealousy.

…and when precisely had she become the kind of woman who walked on eggshells just to avoid making her husband jealous?

But this was about more than that.

If Anakin learned of their meeting, he would mention it to Palpatine. And if  _Palpatine_  knew…

No, discretion had to be her byword. 

But one thing she had learned over the past few years was that it was often easier to hide in plain sight.

She would not sneak around like she had something to hide—that would only draw attention. Meeting with an old friend, on the other hand… there was nothing odd about that. 

Besides, if Anakin caught wind of them meeting covertly, that would be far more damaging than any mere trip to the Temple ever could. 

She reached for her comm.

She had a call to make.


	3. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience and for your comments! I continue to be delightedly surprised that this is a fic people beyond myself find interesting. My apologies for the long waits for comment replies, by the way; I have a bad feeling I'll always be at _least_ a chapter behind on those despite my best intentions. Please be aware that no reply ≠ a lack of appreciation for the comment; no reply = grad school + work + executive dysfunction.
> 
> As always, thanks to [anecdotalist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anecdotalist) ([likealeafonthewind](http://likealeafonthewind.tumblr.com) on tumblr) for her beta-reading; this chapter would be a lot shorter and infinitely poorer without her input.

* * *

       

“—to leave a message, please—” 

Padmé switched her comm screen off in frustration.

Obi-Wan still wasn’t answering his comm. 

_He’s a busy man_ , she reminded herself,  _and it_ is _still early in the evening._   _Just because he hasn’t replied to your message doesn’t mean that anything is wrong._

But the sinking feeling in her gut told her otherwise.

 

 

When he returned to the apartment later that night, Anakin  _did_  have a new datapad with him, as well as a bouquet of Nabooian Dusk Violets and Zephyr Lilies—her favorites.

She fingered the dark, velvety petals of a violet as he spoke.

“—and  _then_  they sent Obi-Wan to apprehend Grievous by  _himself_ —”

Well, that  _would_  explain why he hadn’t gotten her message yet.

When Padmé expressed her surprise and concern, he seemed grimly satisfied.

“At least  _someone_  has some sense around here!” he said. “They never should have sent him without someone to watch his back.”

“Obi-Wan is a capable fighter,” she reminded him gently.

“Oh, I know  _that_. But they should have sent me with him! There’s no Jedi in  _existence_  who can match my power. And… splitting up The Team is always a bad idea. The last time that happened…” He broke off, visibly trying to control his emotions.

She could put a name to each of the seconds that passed:  _Zigoola.._.  _Jabiim.._.  _Mandalore…._

“Well, bad things happen when he goes off on his own, is all.”

She reached out and embraced him.

“It will be alright, Ani,” she murmured. “He’ll be back before you know it and the war will be all but over.” 

Maybe if she said it enough times, she could convince herself too.

“I hope you’re right.”

She kissed him then: first softly, then harder as the passion built between them.

Their lovemaking—awkward though it was with her swollen belly and too-tender breasts—was almost desperate in its intensity; as though part of them thought that if they just clung on to one other tightly enough, everything would be fine.

 

 

She awoke in a room she'd never seen before. Looking down, she saw that the floor was strewn with a rich array of plush, brightly-colored pillows. The flowers Anakin had given her earlier were now in a delicate porcelain vase on a low table by the window.

...the  _barred_  window.

_Oh._

This wasn't a room at all—it was a cage. She couldn't see much through the thick durasteel bars, but from the warmth and humidity, she suspected they were on a jungle planet of some sort.

Sad though it was to say, this was not the strangest situation she’d ever woken up to; it didn’t even make the top ten.

Still, she ought to be more worried, oughtn’t she? Padmé had always prided herself on maintaining her poise under fire, but this... this was different somehow. She felt oddly calm and detached, an outside observer to this scene rather than a participant.

And speaking of observers....

Someone was watching her—she could feel their eyes on the back of her neck.

She whipped around and let out a sigh of relief when she saw it was only her husband. He must have been captured too.

And how had their abductors made it past her extensive apartment security, anyway? She hoped her guards were still alive, but it seemed unlikely.

Considering their circumstances, Anakin was even more strangely relaxed than herself, eyes half-lidded and arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed her from where he leaned against the back of the cage wall.

“Do we know who captured us?" she asked him in a whisper.

"Captured?" Anakin said, voice louder than she thought safe. "No one here is captured."

Her gut twisted uneasily. He sounded half as though he was trying to convince himself of the truth of his words as much as her.

"...Anakin, what's  _happening_?"

“I only did what I had to do. You’ll be safe now, I  _promise_. Safe for ever and ever.”

She reached out and rattled the bars on the cage to no avail. They were uncomfortably hot to the touch, and she was forced to let go of them to avoid being burnt.

He continued, eyes anxious and imploring: “It’s for the best, can’t you see? I’ve fixed everything this way. I can’t lose you, Padmé. I  _won’t_. We’ll live for eternity— _together_.”

The cage was shrinking—she couldn’t speak—couldn’t  _breathe_ —

"Please, Padmé, stop fighting this. You're only going to hurt yourself."

His words rang dully in her ears as the world swirled around her, a haze of smoke and flame and soot.

_E-tern-it-y. E-tern-it-y._

Her eyes were burning... her  _lungs_  were burning... her heart was burning, burning,  _burning—_

....

Padmé woke with a start, heart racing and covered in sweat.

It had only been a nightmare.

Unwrapping herself from her fitfully sleeping husband’s stranglehold, she made her way out to the balcony.

The air was cooler here and she could see the sun beginning to rise. It was soothing, and her heartbeat slowly returned to its usual speed.

“Padmé?”

She jerked in surprise at his touch, hand coming to her heart.

“Ani, you startled me.”

“Sorry,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just… strange dreams.” 

“What were they about?”

She shook her head silently, unable to bring herself to speak of them aloud.

An expression crossed his face that she couldn’t put a name to, but all he said was,

“I promise, no matter what, I will keep you—and the baby—safe.” 

“I know you will,” she replied taking his hands in her own.  _That’s what worries me. Some prices are not worth paying_. “Your hands are like ice!”

He smiled mirthlessly. “I know a little bit about strange dreams myself.”

“Nightmares again?”

His eyes were distant and agonized as he nodded.

She squeezed his hands briefly in sympathy, then began to briskly chafe some warmth back into the flesh one.

“I should leave,” he said at last, reluctantly. “It’s getting late.”

He leaned over and gave her a brief kiss before departing on his stealth speeder.

As she watched him vanish amongst Coruscant’s many buildings, the hollow pit at the bottom of her stomach that had first appeared when Obi-Wan didn’t answer his comm continued to deepen.

It took her a minute to realize why the sensation felt so familiar:

It was how she felt when flying with Anakin, just as he was about to make one of his truly  _ridiculous_  dives; that same swooping, lightheaded mixture of adrenaline and anticipation.

There was one crucial difference between how she had felt then and what she felt now, though: dread.

She shivered.

“My lady, you should come inside before you catch a chill. Master Anakin would be  _most_  displeased if anything should happen to you.”

With a weak smile, she allowed C-3PO to usher her back indoors.

  

 

Padmé did not see Anakin again until the following morning, as she stood staring at the plume of smoke that rose from the Jedi Temple.

She had been watching and worrying by the window for hours now, waiting for news.

Obi-Wan still wasn’t answering his comm. Neither was Anakin… and neither was Ahsoka. Not that any of them were terribly reliable about that nowadays, between the war and whatever it was that Ahsoka was up to when she wasn't fighting side by side with the GAR. 

But still….

She sighed, hand absently coming to rest on her stomach.

The Republic was crumbling, her relationship with Anakin was unstable, and now the Jedi Temple had gone up in flames.

_What will the world you come into look like, my darling?_

She'd been able to reach a handful of Delegation members by comm, but none of them had known any more about the situation at the Temple than she did herself.

“A Jedi starfighter has docked on the veranda, my lady,” C-3PO called. “Most irregular for this time of day, I do say.”

It took a second for the words to penetrate, but when they did, she rushed to the bedroom and out onto the balcony.

And there he was, climbing out of the cockpit of his fighter. He was tense and grimy, perhaps, but wonderfully, gloriously  _alive_  and whole and  _here_.

“Anakin!” 

She ran to meet him.

Padmé fell into his arms and for a moment, there were no words between them, just relief and joy at finding the other alive and well.

It was almost as though all the awkwardness and tension and distrust between them in these recent months had never happened.

Words escaped her mouth in a jumbled rush:

“Are you alright? What happened? I heard there was an attack on the Jedi Temple—you can see the smoke from here—but the HoloNet doesn’t have any concrete information… just rumors. You weren’t answering your comm, and—”

“I’m fine,” he said firmly. “I just came to make sure you and the baby were safe. I was worried when I saw you'd called me. Your messages didn't say anything about it, but are you sure the baby is—”

“Captain Typho’s here, we’re safe, we're  _fine_. What’s  _happening_?”

He hesitated briefly, before seemingly coming to a decision.

“The situation is… not good. The Jedi have tried to overthrow the Republic.”

The words didn’t compute.

The  _Jedi_? Overthrow the Republic?

“I can’t believe that!”

“I couldn’t either at first, but it’s true. I saw Mace Windu attempt to assassinate the Chancellor myself.”

Master  _Windu_? She didn’t know the Korun Master well, but she could have sworn he lived and breathed for the Republic. Whyever would he—?

And besides—

“But… the entire  _purpose_  of the Jedi is to  _protect_  the Republic! To uphold peace and democracy.”

He said nothing.

“I cannot believe it,” she repeated, this time with more conviction. “One Jedi gone mad does not a conspiracy against the Republic make.”

“I heard him admit to as much with my own two ears,” said Anakin. “And… he wasn’t alone in his assassination attempt. There were three other Jedi with him: Masters Saesee Tiin, Agen Kolar, and Kit Fisto. There’s no way for that many Masters to have been involved without the approval of the Council.”

Padmé stared at him in horror.

Anakin knew Jedi politics better than she did; if he said that was how it was done, then it was so. Still….

“Are you  _sure_? Could there be a piece of the story that we are missing?” A terrible thought struck her and she paled. “What about Obi-Wan?”

He shook his head.

“Many of the Jedi have been killed.”

“It just all seems so unbelievable.” 

“I was  _there_ , Padmé,” he repeated.

“But… but… how could  _Obi-Wan_  be involved in something like that?”

He  _couldn’t_. It simply wasn’t possible.

Even if the Council had discovered something that necessitated Palpatine's removal, Obi-Wan would have insisted on taking it through the proper legal channels. He might loathe politics, but he respected the democratic process.

_Perhaps too much sometimes_ , a small, nasty voice whispered.  _Remember Ahsoka's trial?_

She brushed the thought aside. There was far too much else to worry about at present.

When Anakin responded, it was through gritted teeth, hands clenched at his sides: “Even now, it’s Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan!”

“He’s our  _friend_ , Anakin! Surely you’re worried too?” 

“If he was involved in this treachery, he has made his own bed and must now lie in it. And if he wasn’t—well, then he has nothing to fear, now does he?”

This from the man who had all but torn the galaxy apart the last time Obi-Wan went missing!

She shook her head. “You don’t mean that.”

_You_ can’t _mean it._

“Which part? I always say what I mean, Padmé, unlike  _some_.” He paused, then added, “All Jedi are required to surrender themselves immediately. Those who resist… are being dealt with.”

How could he accept this so calmly? This wasn’t like the man she knew and loved.

“Anakin—they’re your  _family_ —”

“They’re traitors,” he growled. “ _You’re_ my family. You and the baby.”

“How can  _all_  of them be traitors—?”

It simply wasn’t  _possible_. If the Council  _had_  been planning to overthrow the Republic, they would have told few indeed and involved even fewer out of fear of discovery or betrayal.

“They’re not the only ones. There were Senators in this as well.”

A thrill of fear shot through her veins as she thought of the leading members of their coalition.

_Mon Mothma. Bail Organa. Terr Taneel. Chi Eekway. Fang Zar_.

And countless others who had signed the petition.

In this charged atmosphere, the search for traitors would quickly turn into a hunt for convenient scape-falumpasets, fueled by indiscriminate hysteria, personal agendas, and patriotic rhetoric. And those who had spoken out against Palpatine would be the first targets on that list.

When she met Anakin’s eyes again, he was  _smiling_.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“To  _me_?”

How could he think she was only worried for herself?

_Then again_ , a small voice whispered,  _perhaps it is safer for everyone this way._

If Anakin knew she was worried about other senators, he might begin to wonder if she had  _reason_  to be worried… and investigate them all the more closely.

“You need to distance yourself from your… friends… in the Senate, Padmé. It’s very important to avoid even the  _appearance_  of disloyalty right now. This is a dangerous time.”

And wasn’t  _that_  a worrying statement.

“Anakin—”

“I told the Chancellor that I did not sense any betrayal from you, Padmé,” he said.

The subtext:  _Don’t make me a liar._

“You sound like you’re  _threatening_ me….”

“Nonetheless, we are all judged by the company that we keep,” he continued inexorably.

“But—I’ve opposed the war, I opposed Palpatine’s emergency powers—I publicly called him a  _threat to democracy_! By that logic, other Senators should be avoiding  _me_!”

“That’s all behind us now.”

Something snapped inside of her.

“ _What_  is? What I’ve done? Or democracy?”

“Padmé—”

She raised her chin defiantly.

“Am I under suspicion?”

“Palpatine and I discussed you already. You’re in the clear, so long as you avoid… inappropriate associations.”

But… that made no  _sense_.

“How am I  _in the clear_?”

“Because you’re with  _me_. Because I  _say_  you are.”

Multiple thoughts fought for dominance (he has  _power_  in this new government—why?  _how_?), but one easily rose above the rest: 

“You told him.”

Her voice was flat.

How  _could_  he?

She hadn’t even told her parents or  _sister_.

And he hadn’t even had the courtesy to discuss it with her beforehand.

How long? How long had Palpatine known?

Everything was starting to come together, and Padmé didn’t like the picture that was forming.

“He already knew,” said Anakin.

_Perhaps. But_ you _confirmed it._

“Anakin—”

“There’s no more need for secrets, Padmé. Don’t you see?  _I’m not a Jedi anymore_. There  _aren’t_  any Jedi. There’s just  _me_. There’s just  _us_.”

Part of her wanted to laugh, albeit hysterically.

This was what she had always wanted, wasn’t it? But not like this. Never like this.

“You’ll be safe, Padmé, I promise. I've  _made_  you safe.”

Her mind flashed briefly back to her nightmare the night before:

_(“You’ll be safe now, I_ promise _. Safe for ever and ever.”)_

“Safe,” she echoed bitterly.

_(“It’s for the best, can’t you see? I’ve fixed everything this way. I can’t lose you, Padmé. I_ won’t _.”)_

She added silently:  _But only for as long as Palpatine doesn’t change his mind. And at the rate things are going…._

_(She rattled the bars on her cage to no avail.)_

“The Separatist leadership is hiding on Mustafar,” Anakin continued. “I’m on my way to deal with them right now.”

“ _Deal_  with them? Like the Jedi are being  _dealt with_?” 

Tears of helplessness and anger welled in her eyes.

“This is an important mission. I’m going to end the war.”

She couldn’t bear to look at him as the tears began to slide silently down her cheeks.

He lifted her chin and touched her wet face.

She made the mistake of looking him in the eye, only to immediately retreat.

He had looked… satisfied. As though this was the reaction he had wanted from her all along.

But that made no  _sense_. Anakin hated to see her cry. He felt the misery of those he loved more acutely than he did that which was solely his own. And as a general rule, Anakin didn’t do well with tears from anyone other than himself; he always wanted to rush off and  _fix_  everything, preferably with his fists or his lightsaber, regardless of its practicality.

It made no sense… unless… this wasn’t about her tears at all?

Anakin  _had_  always thrived on being needed. On  _feeling_  needed. Perhaps this was about having her dependent on him, on his protection….

What had happened to the man she loved?

_Or_ , that small, nasty voice asked,  _is this who he’s been all along?_

No, she would not believe that. She  _could_   _not_ believe that.

“I love you,” he said. “This won’t take long. Wait for me.”

“I always have,” she whispered, throwing herself back into his arms where she couldn’t see his face; where she could pretend, however briefly, that all was normal. “Come back to me, my love. Come  _back_  to me.”

_Where did the man I married go?_

_...Or am_ I _the one who's changed?_

“You say that like I’m already gone.”

She was beginning to fear that he might well be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there was even a  _half_  day more between Padmé's realization and Obi-Wan's departure, this would be a very different (and probably happier) story. But that would mean that TNOF would no longer be a 'for-want-of-a-nail' fic, since that specific change to the timeline wouldn't be a ripple effect result of Padmé's realization. I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I usually feel cheated when a fic touts itself as a 'for-want-of-a-nail' type story, only to change  _multiple_  separate factors. So that's an AU fic premise for another day, perhaps. ;-)
> 
> Next chapter: Obi-Wan finally makes an appearance... and Padmé has a difficult decision to make.
> 
> For those of you who are wondering WTF Anakin's seeming satisfaction was about, it's—surprise!—from the RotS novelization:
>
>> She shook her head helplessly, and a pair of tears spilled from her eyes. He touched them with his mechanical hand; the fingertips of his black glove glistened in the dawn.  
> Two liquid gems, indescribably precious—because they were  _his_. He had earned them. As he had earned  _her_ ; as he had earned the child she bore.  
> He had paid for them with innocent blood.  
> “I love you,” he said. “This won’t take long. Wait for me.”
> 
>   
> When I first read the RotS novelization, this segment seriously creeped me out. I think it's believable for Anakin to think this way at this point in time—not only is he under the influence of the Dark Side (which I see as operating a bit like an addictive, semi mind altering drug), but he's also trying desperately (partially on a subconscious level) to justify his actions to himself. Add in the fact that he's always been possessive and is in a downward spiral that, in canon, ends with him choking his pregnant wife for her "betrayal", and I can see why Stover made this characterization choice.
> 
> That said, I couldn't help but wonder what was going on in  _Padmé's_  head while all of this was happening... and why she seemingly never picked up on Anakin's increasingly disturbing vibe. So, because Padmé isn't stuck in denial in this fic, she  _does_  pick up on it... she just doesn't have all of the facts at her disposal to help her interpret it accurately.
> 
> This reminds me of one last point: No one is correct all the time, and the same is true for Padmé (our narrator) in this fic. Her suppositions usually have a basis in fact (or at least 'fact' as she interprets it from her experiences), but that doesn't necessarily mean she's always _right_. Frequently right, yes, but not always. Some of her misjudgments will be explicitly addressed, while others will go by without comment... rather like what happens in real life. ;-)


	4. Realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, thank you all so much for your continued support (and patience)! Your comments mean a lot to me, even if I _am_ incredibly slow in responding to them. ;-)
> 
> And as always, thanks go to the wonderful [anecdotalist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anecdotalist) ([likealeafonthewind](http://likealeafonthewind.tumblr.com) on tumblr) for acting as my beta.

* * *

 

Once appropriately dressed and coiffed for the Senate, there was little for Padmé to do as she waited beyond pacing and worrying.

And so pace and worry she did.

No sooner would she calm herself than the next terrible scenario would leap into her mind, fully formed.

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan still weren’t answering their comms.

Almost none of her acquaintances were answering their comms, as a matter of fact—which made it that much easier to picture them wounded or dead.

Not for the first time, she was deeply grateful that Anakin had stopped by in person. If she’d had worry for _his_ life weighing on her mind too, she wasn’t sure what she would have done.

…Of course, he _was_ still in danger, if only from the remaining Separatists on Mustafar.

And there was a thought: _“I’m going to end the war”,_ Anakin had said. That must mean that Obi-Wan had defeated General Grievous, surely? For all his faults, the Chancellor was careful of Anakin’s safety—he never would have sent Anakin alone to deal with them unless he expected them to surrender bloodlessly. And the Separatists wouldn’t fold like a deck of crumpled cards unless _both_ of their primary leaders had been removed from play.

If only the HoloNet could get its hands on some information!

She refocused on the channel playing in the background.

_“—were seen entering the Senate building, but refused to give a statement. Now back to you, Sal.”_

_“Word on the street is that there’s been some kind of… Jedi rebellion? COMPOR and the Chancellor’s office have yet to release a statement.”_

_“I suspect they’re holding off until today’s emergency Senate session.”_

_“Mmm, makes sense. SER reports that the Temple is still under lockdown and martial law remains in effect. How likely do you think a rebellion is from the Jedi, Torrin? Why might it have occurred?”_

_“Well, I’m no expert on the Jedi—not like our upcoming guest—but it seems likely enough to me. The Jedi have been a political entity as much as a religious one for several centuries now. Perhaps with the war seemingly—”_

Padmé switched the broadcast off in disgust.

If 'Dateline Coruscant' didn’t have real news yet, then _no_ _one_ did.

Back to worrying and pacing it was.

 

 

In the end, she chose to leave for the Senate early with Moteé, who had been less than pleased when she’d heard Padmé’s request to stop by the Jedi Temple en route.

“My lady, this is a bad idea,” Moteé repeated as they drew closer to the Temple. “You’re too important to risk yourself like this.”

“I need more information about what’s happening with the Jedi,” Padmé repeated in return.

“Which you could ask for once we’re safely at the Senate,” Moteé said.

Padmé shook her head.

“I could _ask_ ,” she said dryly. “That doesn’t guarantee answers, let alone accurate ones.”

Moteé was displeased if the set of her lips was anything to go by, but she made no further protest as she set the ship down on a nearby landing pad.

“At _least_ tell me you’re armed,” she said.

Padmé reached into her voluminous Senatorial robes and brushed a hand against the reassuring weight of her concealed blaster.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” she replied. “But even if I wasn't, I know _you_ are.”

“ _Someone_ needs to be,” Moteé retorted.

The Temple was blackened in patches from soot; a burnt, hollow shell of its former glory. Smoke from the previous night’s fire still billowed from somewhere within the building’s spires, white and grey and black. She coughed as its acridity entered her nostrils and lungs, the charred, rubbery taste thick on her tongue.

Padmé didn’t have to look at Moteé to know that her handmaiden would be wearing an ‘I-told-you-so’ look on her face.

Hundreds of troopers swarmed the area like insects, their hard shells glistening in the sunlight. As they got closer, she could better see their markings. They all wore blue pauldrons, with a blue upside-down triangle painted in the center of their helmets and on their chestplates.

Thank goodness. She _knew_ these troopers—they were Ani’s.

These were good men… they could be trusted to tell her the truth.

_…But why is there such a large attachment_ here _? I thought the bulk of the 501st was with Ahsoka on Mandalore. And_ _while some of them doubtlessly returned to Coruscant when Ani left the siege to rescue the Chancellor, why didn't they accompany him to Mustafar?_

“—in the lower left quadrant,” one trooper was saying to the other.

“And the archives?”

“Twenty so far, Sir.”

That was when the two troopers noticed them.

“Senator, this is a restricted area,” one said.

“Who is in charge here?” Padmé asked. “I’d like to speak to your commanding officer.”

_Please let it be Rex_.

The troopers exchanged glances, then turned back to her.

“Commander Appo, ma’am,” the first trooper said, “but he’s unavailable at the moment.”

“Then who is second-in-command?” she asked as patiently as she could.

“That’d be me.”

A third trooper appeared from the shadows.

“Captain Zerek, at your service, Senator. Begging your pardon, but civilians aren’t supposed to be here. The Jedi situation may be under control but this is still a high-risk area.”

“The Jedi ‘situation’?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said crisply.

“I don’t suppose you could elaborate?” A bolt of inspiration struck from the blue and she added, “You see, the Chancellor sent me here to check on your progress.”

There was a moment of hesitation, then Captain Zerek said, “150 combatant bodies and counting, ma’am. As per orders, they’re being tallied against the archive rosters and cremated on the main entrance steps. CSF is working with strike teams to track down any fugitives who might still be in the area, but they have yet to report back. Ma’am.”

Padmé had to force her face to remain expressionless as the words sunk in.

Combatant bodies—he must mean _Jedi_. Dead Jedi.

Over a hundred dead Jedi that were being publicly burnt, half as spectacle, half as warning.

…oh _God_. The smoke. She’d _inhaled_ some of that smoke.

Not for the first time, she found herself grateful for the extensive training she’d undergone as a new Queen on Naboo. She didn’t think she could have maintained her composure without it.

“…I see,” she said. At Moteé’s insistent elbow in her side, she added, “Thank you, Captain, you’ve been most helpful.”

With that, she turned and headed back towards the ship with her handmaiden.

“The Chancellor has moved the Senate session time up,” Moteé said once they were out of clone trooper earshot. “We need to hurry if we want to make it on time.”

Padmé pursed her lips and nodded.

_Of_ course _he did._

“Let’s get out of here then,” she said, and quickened her stride.

_And if I get a chance to talk to Bail and Mon and the rest of them without surveillance, we need to create a plan. There must still be survivors in the city… but they won’t be alive for long with Security hunting for them…_

_Not unless someone else gets to them first._

 

 

Before she could get into the rotunda, however, she first had to fight her way past the teeming throng of holonews reporters. 

"Senator Amidala, Senator Amidala!" "What is your opinion on the Jedi Rebellion?" "As Chancellor Palpatine's one-time protégé and friend, do you know what today's Special Session is about?" 

And on and on and on.

"Now that the Rebellion has been quelled, how long do you think the War will last?" "Where is the Head of the Jedi Order in all this turmoil? Why do you think he hasn't made an appearance?" "Do you have a comment on the arrest of your compatriot, Senator Fang Zar?" 

Padmé blinked and held her face still with effort.

Fang Zar had been arrested?

_So it's begun already. What does this mean for the rest of the Delegation of Two Thousand?_

Senate Security finally chose to make itself useful and cleared a path, which she took with as much speed as she could whilst maintaining an appearance of dignity. When the entrance doors finally closed behind them, Moteé let out a soft sigh of relief.

Padmé gave her handmaiden a wry smile but Moteé didn't return it.

"It would be  _much_ too easy for an assassin to sneak up on you in a crowd like that," she said. "We should have gone with a decoy."

"No," Padmé said, remembering the feel of Cordé's limp body in her arms, the light dying from her eyes. "It's not worth it. Besides, who would want to assassinate me right now? The petition to the Chancellor failed miserably and I've not been able to affect  _anything_  in the Senate recently. It would be a waste of resources."

"You'd be surprised, my lady," Moteé said grimly. Casting a glance about the hall, she added, "Better safe than sorry."

"As you say," said Padmé, and led the way towards the Galactic Senate Chamber.

 

 

Chancellor Palpatine's voice rung throughout the chamber, strong and clear: “…collaborators will suffer the same fate. These have been trying times, but we have passed the test!"

As had already happened so many times, the Senate broke into applause.

When the applause had died down, he continued, "The Jedi attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed, but I assure you my resolve has never been stronger."

Applause yet again.

Padmé seethed silently, helpless and hating every moment of it. Her hands were twisted so tightly in her lap that she'd nearly lost feeling in them.

"The war is over!" Palpatine declared. "The Separatists have been defeated, and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled!” 

It was then that Bail snuck into her pod. Under the cover of the cheering crowd, he murmured, “I was held up. What’s happening?”

“The Chancellor has been elaborating on a plot by the Jedi to overthrow the Senate,” she whispered in tart reply. "Apparently the Jedi were behind the Separatist threat all along; they manufactured the war to allow them to, and I quote, 'grind the Republic into ruin' and then seize control of the government." 

“That’s not true!” he hissed, outraged.

_Of_ course _it isn't true_ _, Bail. Do you think_ anyone _with a particle of sense believes otherwise?_

“He’s been presenting evidence all afternoon,” she said instead.

Patchy security hologram footage, doctored reports, testimony from assorted eyewitnesses of varying reliability… it was all there.

“And the Senate will go along with it, just like they always do," Bail said bitterly.

Much as it pained her, she couldn't disagree.

“We stand on the threshold of a new beginning," the Chancellor proclaimed. "The night has _passed_ and it is _morning_ in the Republic!”

Applause erupted yet again.

"Here it comes," she murmured to Bail. "He's been building to this all afternoon."

He shook his head. "Here comes what?"

"You'll see," she said, dread a nearly tangible weight on her heart.

From his podium, Palpatine smiled beneficently at the crowd and said, "In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire for a safe and secure society, which I assure you will last 10,000 years. Never again will we be divided! Never again will sector turn against sector, planet against planet, sibling against sibling. We are one nation, indivisible! We are the first Galactic Empire!"

_…what?_

The Senate roared in approval. 

_No. No, this_ _can't_ _be happening. It_ can't _._

This was even worse than she'd thought.

Padmé pinched herself to make sure it wasn't all just another nightmare and winced at the sharp sensation.

_Perhaps I've developed the ability to pinch myself in my dreams?_  she thought without much hope.

“What are they _doing_?” Bail said. “Don't they understand what they’re cheering for?”

She shook her head.

"Either they don't know or they don't care," she murmured.

Palpatine continued to speak. "We are an Empire that will be continue to be ruled by this august body and by a sovereign ruler chosen for life… An Empire ruled by the majority, ruled by a new constitution! An Empire of _laws_ , not of politicians!”

She exchanged a glance of horror with Bail as the crowd erupted into cheers once more.

"We will celebrate the anniversary of this day as Empire Day. For the sake of our children. For our children's children!"

Senators all around them sprang to their feet, their applause resounding throughout the dome like claps of thunder.  

“So this is how liberty dies…” she murmured through numb lips, staring ahead without fully seeing the scene around her. “With thunderous applause.”

“We can’t let this happen!” Bail said. “It’s not too late. If I hurry to my pod, we can still enter a motion—”

She quickly seized his arm to stop him from moving, Anakin's words from earlier still rattling in her head.

“No. No, Bail, you can’t enter a motion," she said, turning to face him. "You _can’t_. Fang Zar was arrested earlier today and Tundra Dowmeia got pulled out of the Senate in front of _everyone_  by security forces an hour ago. If you enter a motion, what do you want to bet you'll be next? At this rate, it won’t be long until the entire Delegation of Two Thousand is declared enemies of the state. Besides, you said it yourself—the Senate will go along with this like they always do. Don’t sacrifice yourself in a pointless stand.”

“But I can’t just stand by and watch—”

And then it hit her:

“You’re right. You can’t just watch. You have to vote for him.”

“ _What_?”

In the background, Palpatine’s voice rang out: “—will stand together against attacks from within or without. Let the enemies of the Empire take heed: those who challenge Imperial resolve will be _crushed_. We have taken on a task that may be difficult, but the people of the Empire—”

Using a sleeve to obscure her mouth from the hovercams in the chamber, she whispered, “Bail, it’s the only way. It’s the only hope you have of remaining in a position to do _anyone_ any good. Do you really think any of those people out there will listen to you right now?" She gestured to the cheering crowd. "They've already made up their minds. So yes, vote for Palpatine. Vote for the Empire. Make Palpatine think that he's convinced you. And in the meantime, keep doing… all those _things_  we've talked about in secret. Save yourself so you can save those who need it.  _Promise_ me, Bail.”

“Padmé, what you're talking about—it could take years! Why are you talking like this? Are you under suspicion?”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said distantly, mind whirling. “I don’t know I’ll live that long.”

And as she said it, she realized that it was true.

Palpatine would never let her live. She had been an outspoken opponent of his emergency powers and policies for too long, too publicly. The man who had arrested Fang Zar and Tundra Dowmeia wouldn't be content to let her continue to criticize him. And unlike Bail, she did not have the protection that came with being Viceroy of one of the Republic's oldest, most prestigious coreward planets.

What was more…

_I do not trust my husband. I am afraid for him; I am afraid_ of _him._  

Having seen Anakin's reaction to the presentation of the Petition of the Two Thousand, she no longer worried that he would take Palpatine’s side over hers in the political realm; she knew it for a certainty, deep in her gut.

If he were to find out that she was involved with anything that went against Palpatine—

Well, Anakin would never  _mean_ to hurt her—not really—but he just got so  _angry_ sometimes…

And he might love her, but he did not trust her. In fact, it was precisely  _because_  he loved her that she so feared his reaction.

He was a man ruled by his passions; and what emotion could be stronger than a love turned to hate?

_We are hurt worst by those whom we love._  

_Oh, Ani, what has become of us?_  

"What are you going to do?" Bail asked, dark eyes concerned. "Is there anything _I_  can do?"

Affection suffused her with warmth for a moment. Of  _course_ Bail would try to help.

_My dear friend, if only it were that simple._

She gave him a weak smile.

"I'm under surveillance," she said with a slight shrug. It was the simplest way of explaining the situation. "I'd be more of a hindrance to the cause than a help at the moment, I'm afraid. But if you get the chance, warn our mutual friends, will you? And… thank you, Bail. Be careful, please."

"—say it with me!" Palpatine thundered. "Safety, Security, Justice, and Peace! Safety, Security, Justice, and Peace!"

The crowd around them joined in the chant, the words swelling louder with each repetition until they reached a fever pitch.

"Safety, Security, Justice, and Peace! _Safety, Security, Justice, and Peace!_ "

"Of course I will, but—"

Padmé used her sleeve to obscure her mouth once more and said, " _Good_. And see if you can covertly search the area for any survivors from the Temple. If they aren't helped soon, they'll be caught by CSF, and I don't want to think about what fate might await them then."

"They'll be killed," Bail said flatly. 

"You sound so sure," she said.

"It's because I  _am_ ," he said. "I saw a Jedi gunned down by clone troopers not five feet away from me last night. I was nearly shot myself."

She shuddered.

All around them, the chant continued, vibrating down into her bones:

" _Safety, Security, Justice, and Peace! Safety, Security, Justice, and Peace!_ "

And in her heart, Padmé wept and screamed.

 

 

When at last Padmé returned to her apartment from the Senate, she was weary both in body and spirit.

"The rest of the night is yours," she told Moteé as she removed her starbird headdress.

"My lady—"

"Captain Typho will be here to protect me. And… I need some time to myself. I suspect you could use some too."

With obvious reluctance, Moteé left. 

The cheers and applause of the crowd still rang in her ears.

_(“Safety, Security, Justice, and Peace!”)_

Only now did she allow herself to break down.

Curled into a miserable ball, she sobbed for the death of the Republic and the deaths of hundreds of innocents. She wept for the Jedi. She wept for the death of all of her closely held dreams.

These were not dainty tears; they were loud and ugly and visceral.

When she had finally cried her fill, she laid there hollow and silent; too listless to move, too dispirited to care. 

At C-3PO’s insistence, Padmé eventually changed into something more comfortable—a loose suede tunic, fitted leggings, and a robe of raw cobalt silk—and moved from the couch to her bed.

She knew that she should eat, both for her own sake and for the baby’s, but she couldn’t bring herself to stomach anything no matter how much the droid fussed.

It was while she was staring blankly at the ceiling that she heard it: a male voice.

A wonderfully  _familiar_  male voice.

He was  _alive_.

Energy suddenly renewed, Padmé belted her robe shut and hurried out to greet him.

There he stood on the open veranda, robed form small against the high arched entryway. He looked bone-tired and sad and undoubtedly worse for the wear, but also gloriously  _alive_  and  _here_  and  _real_.

“Master Kenobi!”

Tossing further formalities to the winds, she fell upon her old friend.

“Oh, Obi-Wan, thank goodness! You’re  _alive_!”

He returned her embrace without hesitation, arms encircling her in their reassuring warmth.

That was all she needed to know that things really  _were_ as dire as she had thought. Obi-Wan did not give out physical affection lightly; under normal circumstances, she might have expected a bow and a kiss to the hand, or perhaps a brief clasp of her arm or shoulder.

“I thought—I had feared—”

He stepped out of her embrace, and his face and voice were grave as he said,

“The Republic has fallen. Padmé … the Jedi Order is no more…”

“I know,” she replied. “It’s hard to believe everything to which we’ve dedicated our lives is just… gone.”

“I believe this is a plot that has been hundreds of years in the making.”

Then he  _hadn’t_  known about any of this beforehand.

“The Senate is still intact at least,” she told him; told  _herself_. “There is some hope, however small. Perhaps once they realize what they've done…”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You don’t understand—”

“Then  _help me_  to.”

“The Sith now rule the galaxy as they did before the Republic.”

“The  _Sith?!_ ”

She was more confused than ever.

Padmé had known that the Jedi were hunting the Master of the Sith Obi-Wan had defeated on Naboo all those years ago, of course. Anakin had always talked to her about his work—probably more than he was supposed to, considering the sensitive nature of the information.

But…

Hadn’t Anakin said that there were only ever two Sith at a time? How could they have seized power so quickly?

As though he’d heard her thoughts, Obi-Wan said, “It appears that the Sith Lord the Council has been seeking was hiding in plain sight all along. …it’s  _Palpatine_ , Padmé. Palpatine is Sidious. He’s been pulling our strings and watching us dance since the beginning; he’s behind everything, even the war.”

She froze.

“But—the war is over,” she protested, even as her mind raced, the final piece of the puzzle slotting into place. 

_Palpatine._

_…The emergency powers…_

_…The surveillance of citizens…_

_…The vote of no—_

“Don’t you see?” said Obi-Wan vehemently, eyes flashing. “It was never about the Republic against the Separatists. It was Palpatine against the Jedi… and we lost. The rest of it was just so much play-acting.”

“It was real enough for everyone who  _died_!”

The indignant words left her mouth without thought.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” he snapped back.

She was about to apologize when his shoulders drooped, fire leaving him as rapidly as it had come. He seemed to age before her eyes as he added heavily,

“You’re right; it  _was_  real enough for those who died. Including the younglings in the Temple.”

“What?” she whispered in horror.

“They were  _murdered_ , Padmé. I saw it.”

Grief was audible in the rawness of his voice, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Murdered? But who would—”

_(“150 combatant bodies and counting, ma’am.”)_

Somehow it had never occurred to her that Jedi children might be in danger as much as their adult counterparts. Who would believe that _they’d_ been traitors, after all?

And orders or no, why in all the nine Corellian hells would the 501st _ever_ carry out such a massacre? For that matter, why would they turn on the Jedi in the first place? How had Palpatine managed to convince them that the Jedi were all traitors?

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, then said, “You ought to sit for this.”

The sinking feeling in her stomach took a sudden nosedive as he guided her over to the couch.

“Padmé… they were murdered by  _Anakin_.”

“No!” The denial was swift and immediate, mind and heart working in concert. “You’ve made some kind of terrible mistake. He  _couldn’t_ —not my Anakin. How can you even  _say_  such a thing?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes held so much pity that she longed to smack him.

“The Anakin we knew died the moment he turned to the Dark Side. The same security hologram that showed him killing Temple younglings… it showed Anakin  _kneeling_  to Palpatine; he called him  _Master_. And Palpatine referred to him as his ‘apprentice’— _Darth Vader_.”

_Anakin would_ never _kneel like that; the very thought would be anathema to him. And he loved Ahsoka… he could never kill Jedi children like her. It can't be him in that security footage. It just_ can't _._

“I—I don't believe it. How do you even know the security hologram is real? Maybe someone is trying to frame him.”

"The footage showed no signs of tampering. And that level of detail would be impossible to create wholesale. If there was even the _slightest_ chance the hologram was a fake, do you really think I'd be here accusing him of such things?"

_No. No you wouldn't._

Eyes intently fixed on hers, he continued, "I don't  _want_ to believe it was Anakin, but there is no denying the truth. Anakin _has_ turned to the Dark Side."

"But Anakin wouldn't… he couldn't…"

She pulled her gaze away from his, unable to stand its weight.

Near the veranda's edge, white curtains fluttered in the late afternoon breeze, their silk organza whispering like ghosts.

_(“Then they should be_ made _to agree.” “By whom?_ You _? That sounds an awful lot like a dictatorship, Ani.”)_

_(“I killed them all. And not just the men… but the women… and the children too! They’re like animals and I slaughtered them like animals!”)_

_(“_ _None_ _of the Council trusts me. Not a one of them. You know what I sense when they look at me? Fear. I feel their_ _fear_ _… and for_ _nothing_ _.” Something in his gaze suggested that he thought he could_ give _the Council something to fear… that he half_ wanted _to.)_

Memory after memory, repressed doubt after repressed doubt, surfaced in her mind.

…she was going to throw up.

_(“But I_ should _be all-powerful! And some day, I_ will _be!”)_

_(For one stretching second, she saw something darkly contemptuous in his eyes; it disturbed her_ — _almost_ frightened _her.)_

_(“You’re in the clear because you’re with_ me _. Because I_ say _you are.”)_

The world spun about her. She couldn’t  _breathe_.

“Padmé.  _Padmé_. Take a deep breath. Good, now let it out.”

Following the familiar voice’s instructions, she slowly breathed in and out, out and in, the voice and steady pair of hands clasping her shoulders her only lifeline.

When she finally opened her eyes, Obi-Wan was standing by her, face set in a frown of concern.

“You’ve had a dreadful shock,” he said softly. His gaze lingered on her very pregnant belly. “Anakin is the father, isn’t he?”

She nodded wordlessly, turning away from him to hide her tears.

“I am sorry, but I must find him. He must be stopped.”

“You’ve decided to kill him.”

The only thing that shocked her was how little shock she felt.

“…He has become a great threat. …I’m very sorry, Padmé. If it could be different…”

“Go away, Obi-Wan. I won’t help you. I  _can’t_. I  _love_  him.”

When at last he spoke, Obi-Wan’s voice was stern,

“As do I, but I know my duty. The question is, which do you love more? Anakin… or the Republic?”

“That isn’t fair!”

“No,” he agreed quietly, “it isn’t.”

And she realized that this was killing him nearly as much as it was her.

“…Mustafar,” she whispered at last, as though doing so might somehow lessen her betrayal. “He said he was going there to take care of some remaining Separatists.”

“Thank you, Padmé. I know that can’t have been easy.”

His words were genuinely empathetic, but Padmé was not in a position to feel very understanding right now.

“Just  _go_. Leave me alone.”

He repeated, “I am very sorry.”

No sooner had he left than regret hit her even more heavily than the guilt.

_What have I_ done _?_

Not even bothering to change, she snatched the first belt and blaster that came to hand and ran after him.

“Wait!” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thanks to the ripple effect of Padmé's initial realization, TNOF begins to diverge more drastically from the original canonical series of events.


	5. Mustafar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your continued feedback! You're wonderful, wonderful people, and though my review responses may be slow, they _are_ still happening.
> 
> The initial flashback scene in this chapter is taken from—you guessed it!—the RotS novelization. As a general rule, when the finished version of the film and the novelization conflict, I go with the former, but it's my opinion that the film would have benefited from keeping this version of the scene in it, as it helps establish Anakin's jealousy and gives added context to his later actions on Mustafar in canon. YMMV, though.

* * *

 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Obi-Wan said as Mustafar came into view.

Against the dusk, the planet glowed like a red-hot coal. Its surface, which had seemed smooth as a marble from a distance, now revealed itself rough and fractured as charcoal.

“I am not hiding in here while you confront him,” she repeated, and he sighed deeply.

“Very well, we’ll meet him together then,” he said.

“You misunderstand me,” Padmé said. “I may still be able to reach him, but not if you’re there. He’s been… unpredictable when it comes to you lately.”

“Oh?” 

“I think Palpatine’s been poisoning him against you. He… he accused me of having an _affair_ … with _you_! Ani’s always been jealous of other men being near me, but it’s been different lately. Worse. If he sees us together, he’ll take it as confirmation of all his worst suspicions and I’ll have a much harder time getting through to him.”

_Assuming I can get through to him at all._

Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped.

“Padmé, if he’s gone enough to think that you’d _ever_ be unfaithful—”

“He’ll listen to me,” she repeated, voice terser than she’d intended.

 _I’ll_ make _him listen._

“I hope you’re right,” Obi-Wan said. “But you said it yourself… he’s changed. What’s more, he’s _dangerous_. You need to think about yourself and your child.”

She bristled.

“I _am_ thinking about my child. He deserves to grow up with a father.”

“And in his right mind, Anakin would be a wonderful father.” 

“‘Would’,” she scoffed. “You’ve already given up on him, then?”

“If anyone could get through to him, it would be you, Padmé. The Anakin Skywalker I know would do _anything_ for you… but then again, the Anakin Skywalker I knew would never slaughter children or kneel to a Sith Lord. We can’t operate under the assumption that he’s still the same man we knew. He _turned to the Dark Side_ —there’s no coming back from that. So while I’m sure the man we knew would never harm you, I’m not so sure about this Darth Vader.”

( _Anakin took her by the shoulders now, hands gripping her hard enough to bruise. “There’s someone else. I can_ feel _it in the Force! There is someone coming_ between _us—”_

_“Not the way you think,” Padmé said desperately. “Ani, listen—”_

_“Who is it?_ Who _?”_

 _“_ Stop _it. Anakin,_ stop _. You’ll hurt us.”_

 _His hands sprang open as though she had burned them. He took an unsteady step backward, his face suddenly ashen. “Padmé—I would never—I’m so sorry, I just—I can’t lose you. I_ can’t _. You’re all that I_ live _for. Wait… did you say ‘us’?”_

_She swallowed, willing some moisture back into her too-dry throat._

_“I’m… Ani, something wonderful has happened. I’m pregnant.”_ )

She shook the memory aside. Anakin wouldn’t hurt her—hurt _them_. He _couldn’t_.

And even if he did…

“Don’t play semantics with me, Obi-Wan; Darth Vader or Anakin Skywalker, he’s still the same person. He’s still my husband.”

 _I still love him._  

Voice firming, she added, “And he’s still _my_ responsibility.”

Obi-Wan let out a soft sigh of resignation.

“If you insist,” he said. “But let the record note that I thought this was a bad idea from the start. And I reserve the right to intervene if I think you’re in genuine danger.”

“Consider it duly noted,” Padmé said with a lightness that she didn’t feel. “Now brace yourself, we’re coming in for a landing.” 

At Padmé’s insistence, they had taken her ship, and she was the one driving. Even Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to argue with the logic that her sleek little skiff would be less conspicuous… and less likely to gain them a hostile welcoming party.

As she lowered the craft, it occurred to her that, anxious though she was, the terrible plummeting sensation that had been plaguing her the past few days seemed to have finally dissipated. 

 _Perhaps it gnawed its way out of my stomach_ , she thought, holding back hysterical laughter at the mental image. _Too bad it couldn’t have taken the baby out of me while it was at it… saved me the time and effort._

One hand found its way to her belly without conscious thought. Below her harness and blaster, beneath the tan suede of her tunic, there lay _life_. A tiny, precious piece of the best of her and Anakin’s love.

 _Surely_ he would listen to her… to _them_. He _had_ to. 

The moment the skiff’s breaks kicked in, Padmé unbuckled her seatbelt and was on her way down the ramp.

Anakin was waiting at the bottom.

This time, however, she did not fling herself into his waiting arms.

“Padmé, what’s wrong? Why are you here?”

He reached out to embrace her, but she caught one of his arms and held it instead.

_Are these the same arms that killed children like Ahsoka?_

“Oh, Anakin,” she murmured, blinking back tears.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked and his eyes held nothing but loving concern.

He looked and sounded the same as he always had.

 _Maybe Obi-Wan got it all wrong_ , she thought in a brief, sudden burst of hope. _Maybe the hologram_ was _a fake…._

“I’ve been so _frightened_ ,” she said and, entirely against her best intentions, burst into tears.

“There’s no need to be frightened,” he said, gently taking the hand on his arm and giving it a squeeze of reassurance. “Don’t you understand? No one can hurt you now. No one will ever hurt _either_ of us again.”

“It’s not that,” she said. “Or at least it’s not _only_ that. The Republic is _dead_ , Ani. Innocent Jedi are being hunted down and slaughtered. And our new emperor is targeting anyone who dares to make any sort of protest. What kind of world is this to bring a child into?”

"The Republic is  _saved_ ," Anakin corrected her. "The Jedi tried to overthrow it, but they didn't succeed."

"It's an _e_ _mpire_ now," Padmé sputtered. "The two are nothing alike."

“The Republic was _already_ dead,” Anakin said, switching tacks at the speed of light. Did he even realize that he was contradicting himself? “It was choking itself to death in its ceaseless cycle of bureaucracy and corruption even before the Jedi put their coup into action and tried to assassinate a legally elected Chancellor.”

The phrasings Anakin had just used didn’t sound natural in his mouth; they sounded like he was parroting someone else… and she had a bad feeling she knew just who it was.

"Perhaps," she said, putting aside the matter of the Jedi's 'betrayal' for the moment. "But it didn't die a natural death—someone  _killed_ it."

 _You and_ Palpatine _killed it._

"It killed itself. Every time the system favored its own interests over those of _all_ its people, it died a little bit more. But if anyone struck its deathblow, it was the  _Jedi_ … the same Jedi who supposedly served it." His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "I suppose they did us a favor, in a way. The Republic  _needed_ to be pruned; the Jedi Order _needed_ to be purged for the sake of the galaxy. Things will be better now."

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Of course the Republic and the Jedi Order had both had their problems, but in what world was _this_ a solution to those problems?

“You can’t actually believe that,” she said, horrified. “Anakin, Palpatine is a _Sith_. Do you really think he has the galaxy’s best interests at heart? Do you really think he has _your_ best interests at heart?”

“Don’t you see?” he said, eyes aglow with a feverish light. “It doesn’t matter. _Let_ him call himself Emperor. _Let_ him do the dirty work—all the messy, brutal oppression it’ll take to unite the galaxy forever… _against him_! He’ll make himself into the most hated man in history. And when the time is right, we’ll throw him _down_ —”

Her head spun.

“What? I don’t—”

“Just picture it: We’ll be _heroes_ , Padmé. The whole galaxy will _love_ us, and we will _rule_. _Together_. You won’t have to fight an ineffectual and corrupt Senate every step of the way anymore. We’ll be free. Free to create a new galaxy—a _better_ galaxy. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? To make the galaxy a better place?”

“Yes, of course, but… Ani, that’s not a democracy you’re describing—it’s a _dictatorship_.”

“Would that really be so terrible?” he asked. “In the end, the Republic failed its people. Our new Empire won’t.”

Coming from those familiar lips, the phrase " _our_ empire" was obscene.

“Anakin, no. No. I can’t stand this. Please, stop it. _Stop_ this. Come back to me.” 

“Come back to you?” He sounded amused. “I’m right here.”

“But you _aren’t_ , don’t you see?” She said, blinking back a new wave of tears. “The man I married would _never_ help a Sith Lord destroy the Republic and the Jedi. But it’s not too late—we can still fix this.” 

 _I_ have _to believe we can still fix this._

Suddenly, he froze.

“Wait…” he said. “I never told you he was a Sith. So how…”

He paused for a moment, then his eyes hardened. He shook her hand from his arm.

“You’ve been talking to Obi-Wan,” he said.

It was an accusation in his mouth.

“He came by my apartment earlier today,” she said, heart pounding. “He told me things about you, Anakin… Terrible things. I didn’t want to believe him, but the way you’re acting…”

“He was lying to you. That’s the Jedi way, Padmé—they lie and they lie, all the while acting like they’re so superior to the rest of the galaxy.” 

His voice rose with each word and she shook her head in disbelief.

“He’s our _friend_. Why would he lie to me about something so important?”

“Do I look like a Jedi to you?” he scoffed. “Who can fathom their minds? He probably thought it was for some ‘greater good’.”

“Then tell me it isn’t true, what he said. _Tell me_ you didn’t kill younglings at the Temple.”

He froze and her heart plummeted at the expression on his face—panicked. Ashamed. _Defiant_.

Without realizing it, she must have been clinging to the hope that _this_ much was false, that _here_ was a line he would not cross.

_Foolish girl. It’s not as though this is the first time he’s killed children, after all._

“Their deaths were unfortunate, but they were enemies of the Empire. They had to die.”

The words fell wooden from his lips, almost as though he was trying to convince himself, but his _eyes_ …

She had been wrong to think that Anakin looked unchanged before. It was true, his face and form were as boyishly handsome as ever, but there was something truly dreadful burning in his eyes.

What had _happened_ to him?

“They were _children_ , Ani!”

“I did what had to be done.”

“They were _children_ , children like our own! Tell me, will you kill _our_ child if Palpatine tells you to?”

He drew back in horror, shaking his head, and for a split-second his eyes returned to normal. “That’s _different_!”

“I fail to see how.” The coolness in her tone nearly matched the chill that surrounded her heart. “Anakin, _p_ _lease_ , stop this. I love you, but you are going down a path I can’t follow.”

Anakin’s face darkened and he growled, “Because of Obi-Wan?”

“Because of what _you’ve_ done…” Padmé said, desperate to make him understand. “Because of what _you_ plan to do.”

“What I have _done_ is gain the powers to save you. What I have _done_ is bring peace, justice, and security to the galaxy. Everything I have done, I have done for _you_ and the baby.” 

 _So this is_ my _fault now?_

“By _eliminating_ _democracy_!” cried Padmé, frustration and sense of betrayal finally overriding her patience. Tears stung at her eyes. “By committing _genocide_! I don’t need you to be powerful, Ani; all I’ve ever wanted is your love.”

“Love can’t save you, Padmé. Only my new powers can do that.”

“Maybe it can’t,” Padmé bit out, “but did it ever occur to you that that’s _my_ choice? You didn’t do this for me, Anakin; you did it for _you_.”

His voice was a low growl: “Obi-Wan turned you against me!”

_This again?_

“Obi-Wan,” she said, “has nothing to do with this.”

“He has _everything_ to do with this!” Anakin spat. “If it weren’t for him, you would _understand_! I’ve become more powerful than any Jedi has ever dreamed of—powerful enough to _save_ you. Powerful enough to protect you from the entire _galaxy_ , if need be. I won't lose you the way I lost my mother. Can’t you _see_? Once I learn the Sith secret to defeating death, we’ll be able to be together _forever_.”

His voice turned pleading again and he took a step towards her.

She backed away, shaking her head as tears began to slip down her cheeks once more.

“No, Anakin,” she said. “It’s _you_ who doesn’t understand. You’re breaking my heart. I _love_ you… but there are things in life that are more important than our love. I could never support a regime that goes against every principle I hold dear… and I cannot support anyone who _does_ support it.”

“…If you aren’t with me, you’re my enemy!” 

“ _What_? Ani—”

But Anakin made no reply. His eyes were distant and he looked straight past her to her ship.

“…You brought him _with you_ ,” Anakin said, an ugly look crossing his face. “I should have known.”

Anger radiated off of him, thick enough to be tangible, its electricity making her skin prickle and her hair spark. It was what she had always imagined stepping into a tornado must feel like, yet she kept her spine straight and faced him head-on.

“Step away from him, Padmé,” Obi-Wan called urgently, striding out of the ship. He sounded very nearly afraid, afraid as she’d never heard him before. 

The air around him crackled with tension—with _power_. She had come to expect these sensations from Anakin, energy fierce as lightning when it struck, but Obi-Wan… He kept himself so tightly under control most of the time that it was all too easy to forget just how dangerous a man he was. (All too easy to forget that this was the man who had killed a Sith when he was an _apprentice_.) The energy surrounding Obi-Wan was weaker than that which crackled around Anakin, but it was more focused—and every bit as deadly. If Anakin was the storm, then Obi-Wan was its eye.

It was yet another reason the two of them had always worked so well together. 

Anakin let out a bitter bark of laughter.

“I should have _known_ ,” he said. “Palpatine was right. Sometimes it is those who are closest to us that we cannot see. I loved you both too much. — I suppose you've been laughing at me all this time behind my back; poor, _stupid_ Anakin Skywalker. Did you even wait a week after our wedding before you betrayed me with him? Or was our whole _marriage_ just another  _lie_? …How long have you two plotted to kill me?” 

If she had been able to make her feet move, she would have walked over and slapped him across the face. As it was, Padmé opened her mouth indignantly, only to find that she could not gather air to speak.

Anakin’s eyes, locked on hers, were full of flame; his mouth was twisted into a sneer.

“I loved you too much to _see_ you, Padmé! To see what you really are!”

 _And what_ am _I?_

She couldn’t breathe.

Obi-Wan’s voice, deep and commanding: “Let her go, Anakin. This is a—”

No matter how she clawed at her throat, she couldn’t _breathe_.

“You will not take her from me!”

It was the snarl of a cornered animal. And as with all wild creatures, it is the most desperate ones who are the most dangerous.

She gagged as her throat reflexively tried to take in fresh air and failed.

“Let. Her. Go.”

A dark haze was beginning to obscure her vision, the reds and oranges of the planet swimming together as she collapsed to the ground, an invisible hand still tight around her throat.

She couldn’t _breathe_.

The baby—how was this going to affect the _baby_?

Almost as though it could sense her panic, it began to kick wildly, small feet echoing the drumbeat of her heart.

“Never! She’s _mine_ , do you hear me?”

“Anak—”

“It didn’t have to be this way, you know. We could have ruled the galaxy together, Obi-Wan, the three of us; we could have made everything _right_. But instead you both chose to betray me!”

 _Obi-Wan was right_ , she thought fuzzily. _He really_ is _gone._

Had she not already been asphyxiating, the horror of that realization would have forcibly expelled all air from her lungs.

A calloused hand touched her cheek for a few seconds and the pressure against her throat seemed to ease, but both vanished so swiftly that she half suspected she had hallucinated the entire thing.

“Anakin, the only one who has betrayed anything here is you. My allegiance is to the Republic. To _democracy_! As once was yours, before you allowed yourself to be twisted by the lies of the Sith.”

…The baby’s movements were weakening.

_No._

_No!_

With shaking hands, Padmé pulled the blaster from its place on her harness. Neither of the men were paying attention to her anymore. 

 _Oh my love, I am sorry_.

( _“I’ve fixed everything this way. I can’t lose you, Padmé; I_ won’t _. We’ll live for eternity _—__ together _…”_ )

How could she? How could she _not_?

( _“He has become a great threat.”_ )

She released the safety.

 _I love you, Anakin. I_ love _you. Forgive me._

She could no longer make out their words and was beginning to have a difficult time distinguishing between their bodies.

( _She rattled the bars on her cage to no avail._ )

Bars of blue appeared at the edge of her blackening vision, and she knew a fight was imminent.

It was now or never. 

Early lessons in blaster use came back to her, her Bubbe Thule’s strong hands guiding her own.

( _“Remember, bubbeleh, never point a blaster anywhere unless you’re prepared to shoot. And if you must shoot it, make sure your opponent can’t get back up. They say there are three types of shots when using a blaster in self-defense: those to distract, those to stun or disable, and those to kill. The first one is meshugge, if you ask me. No good against someone who knows what they’re doing, hmmm? And if you mess up the second, you’ve already made things worse. Now as for the third…”_ )

Her lungs _burned,_ as surely as if she were submersed in Mustafarian lava.

( _“You’ll be safe now, I_ promise _. Safe for ever and ever.”_ )

She aimed, pushing the custom precision-guided setting that Anakin had installed all those months ago—

( _“Ani, what did you do to my blaster? The stun setting is gone again and there’s something weird in its place.”_

 _“Modified it a little last night while you were sleeping. I’ve added in a precision-guided aim feature. See? Haven’t perfected it yet_ — _you can only use it once every half hour, so it’s pretty much useless in full combat_ — _but it’s better than nothing, yeah?”_

_“What, are you saying I can’t aim a blaster on my own?”_

_“No, no! You’re an amazing shot! Just… you never know when you’ll be in a position where you_ can’t _do it all by yourself. Emergencies happen. You don’t have to use it, but I’ll feel better knowing you have the option. Please, Padmé, for my sake?”_

_“…Fine. But you need to find a way to add the stun setting back, Ani. I know you think it’s worthless, but you need to trust my judgment; I know when it’s safe to stun and when it’s safer to wound or kill. Haven’t we fought side-by-side enough times for you to trust me?”_

_“With my life,” Anakin said seriously. “But_ your _life is more valuable—and you’re all too willing to throw it away for the sake of others.”_

_“No one being’s life is worth more than another’s.”_

_“Perhaps not. But your life is worth more to_ me _.”_

 _She shook her head with a laugh, but then kissed him, and soon all else was forgotten in the haze of their passion._ ) 

—cocked the blaster—

_I am so sorry._

—and fired.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, this is what the entire first arc of this fic has been building to. Yeah. *shifts nervously from side to side* I _did_ warn you that we were beginning to diverge drastically from canon, y/y? ;-)
> 
> I've brought some of Anakin's insinuations in the canon Mustafar scene to the forefront in this chapter, allowing him to state them explicitly rather than just hint at them. Hopefully this comes across as his Dark Side enhanced reaction to Padmé's attitude—which is far less tolerant here than it was in canon—rather than character bashing.
> 
> As some reviewers have astutely commented, [some of Iain McCaig's early RotS concept art](https://pipistrellus.tumblr.com/post/155649948179/the-flying-elephant-the-flying-elephant-that) had Padmé going to Mustafar to confront Anakin with a dagger in hand. You'll see more on my thoughts re: that—and the ways in which Padmé's actions in this chapter both do and very much _don't_ follow that template—in the author's notes in the next chapter, since I don't want to spoil anything.
> 
> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!


	6. Death & Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to a variety of Real Life factors, this chapter took me a _lot_ longer to get up than I'd thought it would. Sorry about that, everyone! If you're still reading this fic, please know that I'm grateful for your continued interest and support... not to mention your continued patience. ;-) 
> 
> By the way, I've made a few revisions to Chapter 5; it's nothing that changes the plot, but I decided I wanted to tweak Anakin's characterization in the Mustafar scene a bit. YMMV as to whether it's an improvement or not, but I'm happier with it than I was with what I'd originally posted.
> 
> Thanks go out to the incredible [anecdotalist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anecdotalist) ([likealeafonthewind](http://likealeafonthewind.tumblr.com) on tumblr) for continuing to act as my beta. This chapter and this story would be infinitely poorer without your input!

* * *

 

When she opened her eyes, it was to the sterile walls of an unfamiliar medbay. Glancing around the room, she saw Obi-Wan sleeping in a chair next to her bed.

She was reluctant to wake him, but she needed answers.

“Obi-Wan,” she hissed, tongue strangely thick and clumsy in her mouth.

No sooner had she spoken than she clapped a hand to her throat. It _burned_ , displeased at the movement of her still raw vocal cords.

 _Everything_ hurt, as a matter of fact… she simply hadn’t registered it until now. Perhaps they’d given her some medicine that was wearing off?

Obi-Wan sprang to his feet instantly, hand on his lightsaber, eyes scanning the room, presumably for threats.

Apparently satisfied that they were safe for the moment, he let out a soft breath, loosening his grip on his hilt. It was only then that he seemed to realize who had spoken.

His head snapped around to meet her gaze.

“You’re awake,” he said, and a bit of the ever-present tension he carried seemed to go out of his shoulders. 

First things first: “My baby… how is my baby?”

Her voice, low and hoarse and strained, didn’t sound like it belonged to her.

“They’re _fine_ ,” Obi-Wan said, briefly covering her hands with one of his own. It felt oddly warm and dry against her clammy skin. “All scans indicate that they’re healthy and unharmed. You, on the other hand…” He shook his head. “Any further internal damage to your trachea likely would have killed you. If you hadn’t acted when you did…”

A phantom shiver ran down her spine as she recognized it for truth.

“And… Anakin?”

She could hardly bring herself to ask, but she refused to be a coward.

Obi-Wan’s shoulders slumped and his eyes dimmed.

 _Oh._  

There was a distant ringing in her ears.

“You did the right thing, Padmé,” he said quietly. 

But despite his words, Padmé couldn’t help but note that he sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

“Did I?” 

She felt numb. Hollow.

“I could have… shot to wound—to distract—but I didn’t. I shot to kill.”

She had to pause every few seconds to re-wet her throat, but she forced the words out anyway.

“What do you want me to say, Padmé?” Emotion made Obi-Wan’s tone sharp. “Are you looking for absolution—or for blame? Because neither is mine to give.”

She bit her lip, arms clenched tightly around herself. Both actions hurt, but she half-welcomed the additional pain.

 _…Why did he never add the stun setting back like I_ asked him to _? I would have stunned him if I’d had the option._  

Thought after thought whirled through her head, fast enough to make her queasy. 

 _I was getting through to him earlier, I_ know _I was. If only I hadn’t lost my temper, he never would have lost_ his _, and he might be with me now…_

Her fingers tightened on her upper arms, nails digging into the skin.

_…No, he can't have suddenly become entirely lost to me just because he lost control… There was still good in him. He still could have been saved._

_I still could have brought him back around somehow! If I'd just found the right words, he would have listened to me—_

A small, nasty voice interjected, _And look what you did to him instead…_

Obi-Wan’s voice softened as he continued, “You know as well as I that shooting under such circumstances is always a risky proposition, especially when there are other people present. There is no way to know how things would have turned out if you had acted differently. What’s done is done. The question is: can you live with it?”

When she spoke, her voice was a hoarse whisper.

“…I don’t know.”

 _I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive_ anyone _involved in this wretched affair, least of all myself._

She hadn’t been able to see his expression when she’d fired on him, but she knew his face as well as she knew her own, and it was all too easy to picture his reactions in micro-detail: His face freezing in shock when the shot hit; his eyes wide in confusion and betrayal and pain before the light drained from them. Those beloved eyes, dull and empty of all that had made him _him_ , in a concave husk of the man she had loved with all her soul. 

The pain of it stole the breath from her lungs and she gasped for air, vision blackening at the corners.

 _How did we get here? How did this_ happen _?_

“Padmé, _breathe_ ,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ll call for the healer.” 

She shook her head frantically, only stopping because the motion made her feel dizzier than ever.

“No… healer,” she rasped. “I’ll be… fine.”

It all still felt so unreal, like something that had happened to someone else.

Surely _she_ hadn’t killed her own husband… that had been another woman with her finger on the trigger. That had been _another_ woman whose husband had choked her half to death. Another woman who had watched her world go up in flames.

Obi-Wan frowned, but reluctantly nodded.

“If it happens again, I _will_ get a healer,” he threatened. “We nearly lost you once today already.”

She nodded in acquiescence and he let out a sigh.

“The Anakin that we knew… he would have been glad that you stopped him,” Obi-Wan said, absently stroking his beard. “He loved you, Padmé; he would have happily died a hundred times over if it meant that you and the children would be safe.”

His words reached her as though through a bad HoloNet connection… fuzzy and faint.

_Would he?_

_I used to think so too, but I don’t know anything anymore._

She fixed him with an intent gaze.

“Do you really believe that?”

“I do," he said. "I _have_ to believe it, or everything I knew about him will have been a lie, and I refuse to accept that.”

“Hmm, always prone to attachment you were, young Obi-Wan.”

Padmé started.

Somehow neither of them had noticed the small Jedi Grand Master entering the room with—of all things!— _R2-D2_  rolling alongside him.

“Master Yoda, I am glad to see you alive,” she said, a rush of warmth filling her at the sight of the familiar figures.

“Mutual, the feeling is.”

Artoo let out a short stream of beeps ending on an upward trill. 

“Yes, I’m glad to see you too, Artoo,” she said, reaching out to give his dome a pat when he came up beside her bed. “How did you… end up here?”

A rapid series of binary bloops and bleeps met her ears, so fast that she could scarce begin to translate them all. 

 _'designation:thatfuckerpalpatine sent designation:an8k1n_ _something mustafar something something separatist something designation:r2d2 something something something something something something designation:an8k1n LOCKED designation:r2d2 in the ship, something bantha-fucking cheeskar goo! something something something something designation:masterasshole something carrying designation:padm8? something something afraid something dead? something something something designation:senatororgana! something…'_

How did _Bail_ fit into all of this?

“Slow down,” she said. “And… softer, please?”

Her head ached something fierce and Artoo’s rapid, high-pitched beeping wasn’t helping.

Artoo let out a disgruntled-sounding whirr, but complied.

When he had finished with his indignant expletive-laden narrative, she asked, “Where _are_ we, anyway?”

“The medical facilities on Polis Massa,” said Obi-Wan. “It’s remote enough to be safe for a time, but we will have to find another location at some point after the children are born.”

The—

“ _Children_?” Padmé exclaimed, hand flying to her protruding abdomen. “As in… more than one?”

Artoo whistled sharply and rolled backwards, domed head turning from side to side in a clear expression of shock.

“That is the commonly accepted definition of the term, yes,” said Obi-Wan mildly. “You were not aware that you are having twins, I take it?”

She sputtered, though her throat did not thank her for it.

 _Twins_.

“No,” she managed at last. “I—I wanted the sex to be a surprise, so… I never asked for any details beyond general health from the meddroid.”

“Strong in the Force, they are,” Yoda murmured, eyes closed.

Though no one said it, Padmé knew they were all thinking the same thing: _Like their father._

The Master opened his eyes and added, “In great danger they will be, if together they stay.”

“But… Anakin _is_ dead?”

She turned anxiously to Obi-Wan, half-hoping, half-fearing he would contradict her.

He nodded grimly.

“I felt our bond break rather… violently… not too long after you shot him. The psychic backlash was unmistakable.”

The fine wrinkles around his eyes and mouth tightened as he spoke.

“Possible it is to mimic such a backlash. So sure, are you?” said Yoda, his eyes narrowing.

“I have only felt such a backlash once, Master,” said Obi-Wan, “but I assure you that I have not forgotten any detail of the experience. I am certain; I even checked Anakin’s pulse.”

She felt ill, but Yoda nodded, seemingly satisfied.

Obi-Wan, however, was not done talking yet; it seemed as though, once he had started, he could not stop himself from finishing the tale.

Perhaps she was not the only one here seeking absolution and blame.

“I… meant to take his body with us so we could give him a proper funeral, but I could sense Palpatine— _Sidious’_ approach just as I had carried you onto the ship. There wasn’t time—we needed to leave.” Obi-Wan’s voice broke. “I used the Force to throw his body into the lava pits as we departed. Lava… is a bit like the fires of a funeral pyre, from a certain point of view. And it was preferable to Sidious getting his hands on A—the body.”

Padmé winced at the description, but could not disagree with his assessment. She didn’t know what a Sith Lord could do with a Force sensitive dead body, but she doubted it would be anything good.

That did not make the image of Anakin, tossed into a pit like so much refuse—abandoned and alone, the flames slowly consuming him—any easier to stomach.

“Skilled in the Force, is Sidious,” Yoda said, echoing Padmé’s earlier thoughts.

“But surely with Anakin”—she stumbled briefly over his name—“dead, any danger to the children is gone. Who else would care? They’re _babies_ , for Force’s sake.”

Yoda rapped his gimer stick sharply against the floor.

“Deprived Sidious of his apprentice, you have. Who better to replace the Chosen One than his own progeny, hmmm?”

A chill of horror trickled down her spine.

Frowning, Obi-Wan added, “I suspect he will see their age as a bonus; a chance to start _tabula rasa_ , as it were. — No, Padmé, I am afraid that your children are in as much danger as ever.”

Padmé took a deep breath.

_Just keep going. You can break down all you want once this is over._

“What is your plan?” she asked.

The two Jedi exchanged glances. 

“How,” said Obi-Wan at last, “do you feel about dying?”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To continue my author's note from the last chapter: I knew right away that the Padmé we got in the RotS film—even the altered, largely out-of-denial Padmé of this fic—would never go to Mustafar with the intention of killing Anakin; that's not who she is at this point in time and it would take a _lot_ for her to get to that point... probably more than could believably happen within the RotS timeframe unless you go totally AU with the nature of her relationship with Anakin. (And while that would be an interesting AU, it isn't one that I was interested in writing.) BUT. The concept stuck in my head after I first encountered it in _The Art of Star Wars: Episode III_? Not because Woman With Weapon = Badass, whereas Woman Without Weapon = Passive Victim; that's bullshit. Moreover, Padmé's belief in the goodness of people is one of her _strengths_ as much as it is one of her weaknesses. By having Padmé approach Anakin fully believing that she can bring him back with her love, Lucas is paralleling Luke's eventual 'redemption' of Vader/Anakin in RotJ. I wanted to continue that theme in this fic and to honor Padmé's determination to save Anakin, but I didn't want to make Anakin the center of Padmé's world/top priority as he so often seemingly is in the film and novelization. 
> 
> What's more, I wanted Padmé to get to be a more active participant in everything that happened on Mustafar... and I wanted her eventual survival to be due to something that _she_ did rather than just something that Anakin or Obi-Wan (or Yoda) did. Padmé was largely stripped of her agency in RotS and I had no desire to repeat that pattern. Yes, there are certainly ways Padmé could have contributed to her own survival other than shooting Anakin—and I have a _very_ complicated tangle of feelings regarding that narrative decision of mine—but I also think that her choices were fairly limited. (And suffering from a lack of oxygen doesn't exactly help her to come up with more options!) I don't think Anakin was beyond redemption on Mustafar by any means, but I don't think Anakin was in the best mental place to be effectively reasoned with at that point in time either, y'know?
> 
> Honestly, if I ever have the time/energy, I'd love to write a divergence AU of this fic where Padmé shoots Obi-Wan instead, or where the shot only wounds Anakin, or where the shot goes wide and doesn't hit either of them. Or where she decides to leave Mustafar before he gets to the point where he chokes her. Or where... _So_ many possibilities! That's always been one of my problems when writing stories: I want to explore _all_ the different directions the story could go at every major juncture lol.
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and I know I'm SUPER behind on review responses, but feedback of all sorts remains deeply appreciated!


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